Of Teenagers and Homicides
by TheCurlyGal6218
Summary: "Keep calm and breathe deep." Those were the words she lived by. Elise Holmes didn't need to conform to the status quo- heavens knows her family didn't. Being the daughter of London's only consulting detective ensured that fact pretty well. It only took a few panic attacks before the word "normal" didn't apply to her at all. AU. Trigger warning for anxiety.
1. Meet The Holmes

**Chapter 1: Meet the Holmes.**

 **A/n: Hello everyone! I have been wanting to do a story like this for a while now and after weeks of intense planning, I have finally decided to write it. I haven't seen a lot of stories like this out there so I would say that this is pretty fresh. However, I was inspired by the fanfiction** ** _The Family Business_** **by** ** _DemolitionLover.14_** **so go check that out if you're so inclined. It's pretty amazing.**

 **Thanks and Happy reading** **J**

 **TheCurlyGal6218**

"How fresh?" Sherlock asked the meek pathologist. He stood upon a black bag, the expressionless face of the middle aged man before him. Dead.

"Just in." she replied in her usually sweet tone. "Sixty-seven, natural causes. He used to work here. I knew him. He was nice." She smiled sadly at the corpse.

Sherlock's cold demeanor never faltered. He zipped the bag back up and smiled curtly at Molly.

"We'll start with the riding crop."

The body of the man was removed from the bag and placed on the cold, metal table. The brunette woman handed him his tool wordlessly before scuttling away to watch from the other room. The curly haired detective smiled at the body. To someone who didn't know him it would've been unnerving. To someone who did, it would be normal.

"Showtime."

He proceeded to beat the lifeless man with the crop, much to Molly's dismay. She watched with half admiration, half disgust from the observation room. After several minutes of uncomfortable staring, the only sound being that of the riding crop against the man's skin, she approached Sherlock. "So, bad day was it?" Sherlock ignored her meager attempt at a joke and instead kept his sight trained on the body.

"I need to know what bruises form in the next twenty minutes. A man's alibi depends on it. Text me."

He began scribbling on a sheet of paper. Molly stood there awkwardly, unsure what to do.

"How's Elise?" she settled on asking.

He was quiet for a moment, a small smile tugging at his lips at the mention of his daughter. Although he would never admit it, he was secretly happy when she was brought up in conversation. Especially when she was at someplace as dull as school.

"She's fine." He replied, masking his joy.

"Still with her nose in the books?"

He nodded again. _Sort of busy Molly…_

"Listen." She said.

 _Here we go._

"I was wondering if maybe later when you're finished…" Sherlock looked up briefly from his work before his eyes went down again. He frowned and took a double take.

 _Lipstick… that wasn't there before. Interesting._

"Are you wearing lipstick? You went wearing lipstick before." She stared at her shoes before timidly looking up. She was reminiscent of prey being cornered by a savage predator.

He noticed her demeanor become wary.

"I, erg, I refreshed it a bit."

She smiled at him, but he turned back to his notebook after a beat, oblivious at her attempt to be flirty.

"Sorry you were saying?"

She swallowed nervously. "I was wondering if you'd like to have coffee."

Sherlock put his notebook away and looked at her impassively. "Black, two sugars. I'll be upstairs." He walked away from the crestfallen pathologist.

"…okay."

Sherlock squeezed a pipette of liquid onto a petri dish, watching his work intently. He liked running experiments. Well… he liked investigating more, but this was the next best thing. When cases where slow and boredom threatened to drive him to the brink of insanity, a good experiment would keep it all at bay. For a while at least.

His work was interrupted by the sound of a text alert. With an irritated sigh, Sherlock took out his phone and clicked the message icon. _1 new message._

 _Call me xx – EH_

 _I prefer to text – SH_

 _This is important -EH_

 _Are you in physical danger? – SH_

 _No – EH_

 _Is it dire enough where I have to leave work? –SH_

 _No…- EH_

 _Is the apocalypse upon us? - SH_

 _NO- EH_

 _Then we are texting. What's the issue? - SH_

 _I was just reminding you that I have to stay after school for half an hour. – EH_

 _Why? – SH_

 _I promised Mrs. Jennings I would help her in the library. – EH_

 _Fine. Take a cab to Baker Street when you're through. – SH_

 _K. Love you. – EH_

Sherlock was about to respond when suddenly his phone lost signal. He cursed in irritation.

He put the device back in his pocket just as a knock sounded at the door.

Mike Stamford came waddling in, and short man with blonde hair limping in behind him. He looked around the room, taking in his surroundings.

"Bit different from my day."

Sherlock deduced him in record time. _Hmm… veteran._

Mike chuckled. "You've no idea."

Sherlock sat down in his chair. "Mike can I borrow your Phone? Mine doesn't have signal."

"What's wrong with the landline?"

"I prefer to text."

Mike raised his eyebrows and patted himself down in search of his mobile.

"Nope. Sorry, it's in my coat."

Sherlock rolled his eyes inwardly.

To his surprise, the blonde man reached into his back pocket and pulled out his own phone.

"Um, here." He said as he handed Sherlock the device. "Use mine."

"Oh. Thank you." Sherlock said thankfully. He walked up to him to take the phone.

"Here's an old friend of mine. John Watson."

Sherlock began typing a text to his daughter.

 _Message Sent_

 _Likewise-SH_

"Afghanistan or Iraq?"

John frowned and looked to Mike for help. The other man simply smiled knowingly and gestured to the detective.

"Sorry?"

"Which was it- Afghanistan or Iraq?"

Sherlock looked at John before turning back to the screen.

The veteran hesitated. "Afghanistan… How did you –"

"Ah Molly, Coffee. Thanks."

He gave John back his property and retrieved his mug from Molly.

He frowned as he noticed her mouth.

"What happened to the lipstick?"

Molly shuffled her feet awkwardly. "It wasn't working for me."

"Really?" Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "I thought it was a big improvement. Your mouth is too small now."

The pathologist's cheeks turned an astounding piece of crimson. "Okay…" she scurried away, glad to be rid of the embarrassing conversation.

"How do you feel about the violin?"

It took John a moment to realize the dark haired man was talking to him.

"I'm sorry? What?"

Sherlock was typed on a laptop as he spoke. "I play the violin when I'm thinking. Sometimes I don't talk for days on end. My daughter has a moderate anxiety disorder and is extremely possessive of her book collection." He looked up. "Would that bother you? Potential flat mates should know the worst about each other."

John had not the slightest idea how to respond.

"We also have a Guinea Pig."

 _The following day_

John limped his way down the street towards 221B. The London morning was cold, but tolerable thanks to his thick jumper. His cane clacked against the pavement, earning the sideways glances of his fellow commuters. He sighed. By now he should be used to the lingering stares. That wasn't the case.

Just as he was approaching the black door, a Taxi pulled up on the curb. Sherlock Holmes bustled out of the cab and paid his fare.

John limped over to greet him. "Ah, Mr. Holmes."

"Sherlock, please."

The two men shook hands.

John looked up at the apartment. It was rather nice. Better than he was expecting.

"Well this is a prime spot, must be expensive."

"Oh, Mrs. Hudson, the landlady, gave me a special deal. Owes me a favor. Her husband was sentenced to death in Florida a few years back. I was able to help out."

John nodded his understanding. "You stopped her husband being executed?"

Sherlock shook his head. "Oh no. I ensured it."

John cocked his head to the side. He was about to ask more questions but Sherlock left his side and rapped the brass knocker on the door.

An old woman opened the door and instantly brightened when her eyes set on Sherlock.

"Sherlock, hello." The woman said fondly.

The pair embraced and then the detective introduced John.

"Mrs. Hudson allow me to introduce Dr. John Watson." He gestured to his fair haired companion.

"Hello." She smiled at him and shook his hand.

"How do you do?"

"Come on in." she smiled at the boys warmly.

"Thank you."

The trio entered the building. Mrs. Hudson closed the door behind them. Sherlock jogged up the stairs, pausing at the first landing so that the older man could catch up. When they reached the top of the stairs, Sherlock opened the door to the flat and swanned inside. John followed and surveyed the place in which he would be living.

The first thing he noticed was the mess.

The space was cluttered with boxes, stacks of disheveled paper, books, and other rubbish. Other than that, it was very nice. Homey even. The wallpaper was a bit dated, but John didn't care. Overall, it was very classy.

"Well this could be very nice. Very nice indeed."

Sherlock nodded in agreement. "Yes, my thoughts exactly. So I went ahead and moved in."

"- Just as soon as we get the rubbish cleared out."

The two men stared at each other. John looked at his shoes in embarrassment.

"So, this is all…"

He was cut off by the sound of running footsteps and a frantic voice.

"Daddy!"

A young girl with wild curly hair suddenly burst into the room. In her hand, she brandished a hardback book like a weapon, eyes alight with fear.

"I can't find _Catching Fire._ I know I packed it but I can't find it anywhere."

The army doctor gaped at her in surprise. Sherlock had told him he had a daughter but he wasn't expecting this. The resemblance between the two was uncanny. She had inherited her father's height and lanky frame, the same blue-green eyes on equally pale faces. The only physical difference between the two was gender and age.

 _A bloody child is taller than me._

 _"_ Check the box on the table."

"I already did."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Then check again."

The girl huffed and stalked off to find the missing book. A moment later she returned, a sheepish grin on her face.

"Found it." She waved said book as evidence. "Thanks."

She turned away from her dad to face the other man, noticing him for the first time.

"Who are you?" she asked in confusion.

John cleared his throat. "John Watson. I'll be sharing the flat with you and Sherlock."

"Nice to meet you, I'm Elise." She held out her hand and john shook it. "I guess you already know who I am." She smiled at John. He could already tell he was going to like her. After all, she didn't seem like a bad kid.

"Pleasure." John said with a grin.

She smiled again and flopped on the couch with her book, staring intently at the page.

"Well I suppose I can clean some of this up." Sherlock said, moving a couple odds and ends around. He halfheartedly dumped something on the fireplace mantel and pushed a box out of the way.

"Don't strain yourself father dear." Elise quipped sarcastically.

He ignored his daughter and continued the tedious task.

John strolled up to the mantle and poked at his findings with his cane.

"That's a skull." He said incredulously.

"Friend of mine, well when I say friend."

Elise snorted from her place on the couch.

Mrs. Hudson trotted into the room, picking up a cup and saucer as she went.

"Well what do you think Doctor Watson? There's another bedroom upstairs if you'll be needing two bedrooms."

"Of course we'll be needing two." His eyebrows knitted together.

"Oh don't worry dear, all sorts around here. Mrs. Turner next door has got married ones."

John looked at Sherlock for help but was awarded none as the other man was completely tuned out. Despite his clear discomfort, the younger Holmes seemed to be quite amused. She hid her laughter behind the book cover.

"Oh Sherlock! The mess you made." The old woman tutted. She went into the kitchen and closed the door. Soon, the sound of clattering dishes was heard along with the steady stream of running water.

John walked to one of the two armchairs. He fluffed a pillow and placed on the seat. Satisfied, he eased himself on the seat. He watched the Holmes family continue their tasks; one absorbed in her reading, the other attempting to clean up his mess. He didn't know what to make of them. The detective, while brilliant as he was, could be a bit abrasive. He thought about the deductions the tall man had made about him. _Afghanistan or Iraq?_ Impressive. But how?

Then there was Elise, the avid reader with an anxiety disorder. To the untrained eye, she would seem the normal 13 year old. She smiled easily and if she was anything like her dad, intelligent. All she seemed to want to do was keep herself in the book. However, John was a Doctor. He knew the signs. It didn't go unnoticed that as she clasped her novel with one hand, she picked at the skin of her fingers on the other. She didn't even blink. It was all involuntary, as if she had been doing it for quite some time. He also saw how every few pages she would check her surroundings, eyes discreetly taking in detail.

Odd indeed.

He turned his thoughts away from the strange girl to the detective across the room.

"I searched you up on the internet last night." He said.

The detective continued working as he responded. "Oh? Find anything interesting?"

"Just your website. The Science of Deduction."

Sherlock smirked proudly. "What did you think?"

John looked at him incredulously.

The smile quickly vanished from the consulting detective's face.

"You said you could identify a software designer by his tie and an airline pilot by his left thumb."

He sighed and looked up from his task. "Yes and I can read your military career by your face and leg and your brother's drinking habits by your mobile phone."

"It's true. He can." Elise piped up.

"How?"

The two didn't answer, simply exchanging a knowing glance before carrying on what they were doing.

Mrs. Hudson came in from the kitchen, a squeaking sound following her in her wake.

"Elise dear, do feed that poor animal. He's whining up a storm."

The curly haired teen sighed and put down her book. "Ugh, Gizmo."

John looked up in confusion. "Who's that then?"

"Our Guinea Pig." She explained.

She walked out of the room, muttering something about cucumbers.

Sherlock looked up once she had gone. " _Her_ guinea pig. I simply bought it."

John chuckled.

Mrs. Hudson entered the room once more. "What about these suicides then, Sherlock? I thought that'd be right up your street. Three exactly the same."

A commotion outside sent him to his feet, walking briskly towards the window. He narrowed his eyes as he studied the scene. Police cars.

"Four. There's been a fourth."

He watched as Lestrade clambered out of the vehicle, the sirens bathing his face in their glow. The DI was frowning as he looked up at the building.

"And somethings different this time."

Elise dashed back upstairs after retrieving a cucumber from Mrs. Hudson's fridge. She was sure she wouldn't mind. After all, she did it all the time when she came over for tea. Besides, it was the only food that would shut Gizmo up and Mrs. Hudson hated the awful crying sound the guinea pig made when hungry. Timothy Hay would work much better, but they were out. This would have to suffice.

As she began deseeding the green vegetable, (Seeds were toxic to the small rodent) the door slammed closed downstairs _._

 _Who could that be?_ She heard a gruff male voice speaking from the living room.

 _Lestrade. No way am I missing this._

Elise scooped Gizmo out of his cage and began feeding him as she returned to where the small group was gathered.

"Who's on forensics?" her father asked the DI.

"Anderson."

"Ew." She said with a grimace, making her presence known. "Hello, Lestrade."

He scrubbed a hand down his face. "And mini- Sherlock emerges." Elise scowled at him. He ignored her sour look and gave her a smile to show that he was kidding.

"And to think I was actually happy to see you." She adjusted her pet in her arms. "Daddy doesn't like Anderson."

"He doesn't work with me." He said in agreement.

Lestrade scoffed. "Well he's not your assistant."

"I need an assistant."

"I'll help." Elise offered hopefully.

Sherlock nodded his consent and Elise beamed. As she got older, he allowed her to come on even more cases with him.

The DI nodded exasperatedly. Normally children wouldn't be allowed at a crime scene, but this was a rare exception. Sherlock was training Elise to become a detective like him and he claimed she needed to start young. Just like her father, she loved the thrill of an investigation. She was quite good at it too. She had assisted her father on cases since she was eight years old.

"So you'll come?"

"Not in a police car. We'll be right behind."

"Thank you." Lestrade exited the flat and made his way outside.

He looked across the room at Elise who held a similar gleam in her eye.

"Brilliant!" Sherlock exclaimed as Elise laughed and hurried to put her Guinea pig back.

"We've got a crime scene!" she shouted from the other room.

"Yes! Ah, four serial suicides, and now a note! Oh, it's Christmas."

His daughter hurried back into the room, hopping as she zipped up a pair of brown combat boots and tugged on a matching jacket.

Sherlock quickly dressed in his own coat and scarf.

"Mrs. Hudson I'll be late. Might need some food."

"Something for Gizmo to if you don't mind. I was only able to give him a bit of cucumber." Elise chimed in.

"I'm your landlady dear. Not a housekeeper."

"Something cold will do. John, have a cup of tea and make yourself at home. Don't wait up."

He grabbed something from the kitchen table and then dashed out the door, Elise following.

 **A/n: First chapter done! Yay or nay? Leave me a review on the way out so that I can see what you lovely readers think. We'll have a lot more Elise in the next installment so I hope you'll enjoy that. I'll get the next chapter up as soon as I finish it. Thanks for reading!**


	2. A Study In Pink pt1

**Chapter 2- A Study in Pink (Part1)**

 **A/N: Welcome back! This chapter is the first official part of a Study in Pink. The last chapter ended with Elise and Sherlock leaving the flat to go to the crime scene so I'll pick up from there.**

 **Thanks and Happy Reading!**

 **-TheCurlyGal6218**

Elise sped down the stairs after her father. Her boot clad feet pounded against the wooden steps, hopping over a particularly creaky one when she came to it. This was so exciting! They weren't even at the crime scene yet, but she already had adrenaline pumping in her veins. As she reached the last landing, she made to open the door when to her surprise, a gloved hand shot out in front of her. She looked up at its owner in surprise.

"What's wrong?"

He didn't say anything and instead just looked down at her. Elise sighed in exasperation. Why did he stop her? They were supposed to be heading after Lestrade!

"Dad. We kind of have to go now."

He looked up to the flat.

"Wait here. I'll be back in a second."

The detective rushed upstairs, leaving Elise behind. She stared at his retreating form, dumbfounded. Elise leaned against the banister. She could faintly hear the sound of Sherlock and John's voices as she picked at her fingers. She didn't even register when the two men came bounding downstairs until her father gently pried her hands apart.

"Stop it." he said firmly.

"You know I can't." Elise pouted.

"At least try. Your hands look like they've were torn apart by a vicious animal."

She was about to make a biting retort but decided against it. There was a sixty percent chance she would lose the argument she was considering waging. Instead, she opened the door and stepped out into the London Street.

Her breath billowed out in a blanket of fog, dissipating almost as soon as it was expelled. The late afternoon was comfortably chilly, per usual. While most people cringed against the bitter cold, Elise welcomed it. Always had, always would. Cold meant days in front of a crackling fireplace, sipping tea as she turned the pages of her favorite book. When she was younger, Sherlock would sit her on his lap and read the stories to her himself. She could tell that he hated the tales of princesses being saved by knights in shining armor, but he read them to her anyway until she had fallen asleep. Some of her best memories involved her father reading those stories to her. They hadn't done that in such a long time. After all, she was way past the point where she needed help deciphering words on a page.

"Taxi!" Elise was brought out of her musings by the familiar baritone.

The cab stopped at the curb and Sherlock bustled inside, closely followed by the younger Holmes and Watson. Elise wriggled around in between the two men, squished. While neither adults were particularly wide in build, they were still much bigger than her skinny frame. She frowned and drew her shoulders in, fruitlessly attempting to get more room. Finally getting comfortable, she stared out the window on her left, watching the cars whizz by.

Sherlock tapped on his phone. John stole curious glances towards the unusual family. He still had no idea what to make of them and he had so many unanswered questions. They were unlike anyone he had ever met before. That didn't say much being that he hadn't really met many prominent figures, but it didn't lessen his fascination.

Elise noticed the former soldier's eyes more or less discreetly studying her and her dad. At first she was puzzled, but then the pieces clicked into place; he craved information.

Sherlock seemed to realize this too and looked up from his phone.

"So you have questions."

John perked up considerably. "Yeah, where are we going?"

"Crime scene. Next question."

"Who are you? What do you do?"

"What do you think?"

He hesitated. "I'd say private detective…"

"But?" Sherlock pressed.

"… The police don't go to private detectives."

Elise smiled. "Good."

Sherlock rolled his eyes at his daughter. "I'm a consulting detective. Only one in the world. I invented the job."

"He wanted to be a ballerina but the positions were taken."

"Careful daughter dearest." Sherlock hissed.

"I was only kidding." She defended innocently. "Besides, you would look good in a tutu."

John bit his lip to stifle the impending fit of laughter. He was beginning to like the sharp tongued teen even more.

"What does that mean?"

Sherlock, ignoring Elise's comment, answered. "It means when the police are out of their depth, which is always, they consult me."

"The police don't consult amateurs." John pointed out.

The consulting detective threw him a warning look. "When we met I said 'Afghanistan or Iraq' you looked surprised."

"Yes how did you know?"

"I didn't know, I saw. Your haircut, the way you hold yourself, says military. But your conversation as you entered the room said trained at Bart's hospital, so army doctor- obvious. Your face is tanned but no tan above the wrists. You've been abroad but haven't been sunbathing. Your limp is really bad when you walk but you don't ask for a chair when you stand, like you've forgotten about it, so it's at least partially psychosomatic. That says that says the original circumstances of the injury were traumatic. Wounded in action, suntan- Afghanistan or Iraq."

Elise grinned proudly at her father's deductions and began theatrically clapping.

"Bravo! Brava! You're on sparkling form today."

Elise leaned in towards John. "I love it when he does that."

The blonde man was lost for words.

"You said I had a therapist."

"You've got a psychosomatic limp, of course you have a therapist. Now Elise."

She looked up in surprise at her name.

"Yes?"

"Care to make deductions based on Mr. Watson's mobile phone?"

Elise's grin broadened at the permission to hone her growing deduction skills.

"Gladly. Always looking for a chance to practice. Can I see?" she held out her hand for the device.

He complied amusedly and watched as her expression shifted from that of teasing to sheer concentration.

"Hmm. Internet access, Mp3 player, so it had to be fairly expensive." She paused and looked at Sherlock for encouragement.

"Go on."

She sighed and wet her lips anxiously. "However you're looking for a flat share and don't strike me as the type to fork over cash for pleasantries, so it was a present." She turned the phone over in her hands. Her fingers traversed over the scratches on the device.

"Scratches. Not one, many over time. It's been in the same pocket as coins and keys. You wouldn't treat a luxury item like this, so you aren't the original owner. The next bit is easy. The engraving. Harry Watson is clearly a family member who gave you his old phone. Not your father because the elderly can barely work computers, much less a high tech smartphone. Could be cousin, but you're a war hero who needs a place to live. Unlikely you've got extended family and if you do, it's safe to assume you're not close. I'd say brother. Younger brother to be more specific. Then we have Clara."

She tapped the woman's name written in elegant script on the back of the phone.

"Probably a romantic attachment of your brother's if the three kisses are truthful. A girlfriend is unlikely to spend money on an expensive gift so a wife. It's fairly new judging by the model- I'd say at least six months. Marriage is crumbling since he gave the gift away to his older brother. He left her and got rid of the phone. Wants to stay in touch with you although you're not fond with him at the moment. You liked his wife. Didn't like his alcoholism."

John looked at her in admiration. "How could you possibly know about the drinking?"

She smirked and gestured to the chinks near the charging port. "Never see a sober man's phone with these."

Elise handed the phone back to John who gingerly took it and stuffed it in his pocket.

Sherlock gave his daughter a broad smile. "Well done."

The girl shook out her hands. "Bit rusty."

She absentmindedly pick at her fingers.

The trio sat in silence for a few moments.

"You were right." Sherlock said, watching as Elise picked with a concerned frown.  
"About what?" John asked.

Sherlock pulled Elise's fingers apart, forcing her to stop her bad habit momentarily.

"The police don't consult amateurs."

John shook his head in wonder. He still had questions, but they were pushed to the back of his mind as he took in this new information.

"That was amazing."

The pair looked at him in surprise.

"Daddy, can we keep him?"

"Shut up." He rolled his eyes affectionately. "Really?" he directed towards John.

"Of course! It was extraordinary. Absolutely extraordinary."

"That's a first. People usually say something completely different."

John raised his brow. "And what's that?"

Sherlock and Elise looked at John, smirking.

"Piss off." They said in unison.

/

The cab rolled to a stop once the group reached Lauriston Gardens. They stepped out and after paying the cab, strode over to the black and yellow police tape. The air was thick with the commotion of chattering people, the blare of the red and blue lights floating against the ground. A normal person would be fretful at the display. This wasn't the case with Elise. Even with her anxiety, she had managed to keep calm.

For her, there was no reason to be nervous at a crime scene.

The sight of the officers and forensics team mucking about had been familiar to her for as long as she could remember. Even before her dad allowed her to tag along with him for investigations, she spent plenty of time at Scotland Yard and Bart's hospital. Lestrade used to let her read in his office while he worked at his computer and Molly would let her color with printer paper while did paperwork for the morgue. This was nothing new.

Still, she felt that same excitement bubbling in the pit of her stomach as they got closer.

"Did we get anything wrong?" Sherlock asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

"Harry and me don't get on." John started thoughtfully. "Never have. Clara and Harry split up three months ago and they're getting divorced. Harry is a drinker."

Elise smiled, not even trying to mask her satisfaction. A similar expression was on the detective's face.

"Spot on then. Didn't expect to be right about everything."

"Harry's short for Harriet."

The Holmes' groaned in unison.

"Well… There's always that one thing." The curly haired teen said with a shake of her head.

"Sister." Sherlock said in annoyance. "It was a sister. Ugh! Just once I want to be right about everything!"

Elise rolled her eyes. "Your ego is big enough. If on the off chance that did happen, your head would explode. You can't show off with the remnants of your big brain splattered everywhere. Now wouldn't _that_ be troubling."

"That's medically impossible. Now shut up." Sherlock snapped.

"I was being facetious." She mumbled dejectedly.

"I wasn't. Now hush."

"Why?" Elise asked stubbornly.

"I'll either send you home or I'll call you by your full name in front of Anderson. The teasing would be immense."

"Okay, Okay." She said with a huff. "I'll shut up till we get inside."

"A sister!" Sherlock said disbelievingly

John cleared his throat. He was trying so hard not to laugh at the father daughter spat. It was proving to be even harder of a task than he anticipated.

"What exactly am I doing here?" he asked once he had fully regained his composure.

His question remained unanswered as the small group approached the police tape.

A sharply dressed woman with curly hair almost up to par with Elise's stood in close proximity to the approaching Holmes' and their guest. As always, she didn't look particularly happy to see them.

"Hello freak." She said with a sour smile directed at Sherlock. "Baby freak." Elise didn't even bat an eyelash.

"Affair." Elise said simply.

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing." She said innocently. "Just observing."

Sherlock glanced at his daughter then glared at the bitter specimen before him.

"I'm here to see Detective Inspector Lestrade."

"Why?" she asked dumbly.

"We were invited."

"Why?"

"I think he wants me to take a look." Sherlock said sarcastically.

"Well you know what I think don't you?"

Elise snorted. "Wow Donovan! I wasn't aware you were capable of actually forming a thought." She cocked her head to the side. "Must have taken some effort."

The Sergeant sent a withering glare towards the thirteen year old.

"You're no better than him."

"Always Sally." Sherlock said with an exaggerated sniff. "I even know you didn't make it home last night."

Sally shifted uncomfortably on the spot under the man's accusatory words.

"I don't… who's this?" she was quick to drive the conversation away from her.

"Colleague of mine, John Watson." He turned to face John. "Doctor Watson, Sergeant Sally Donovan. An old 'friend'."

"A colleague?" she scoffed. "How do you get a colleague? Did he follow you home?"

John looked highly uncomfortable. "Would it be better if I just waited and…"

"No." Sherlock said firmly. He held up the tape for Elise and John. They quickly ducked under it as Sally raised her radio to her mouth.

"The freak is here. He brought baby freak with him." She shook her head at the 'freaks' disdainfully. "Bringing him in." The feedback crackled.

They were lead to the two story house, Sherlock and Elise scanning the area in search of helpful clues. Much to the young girl's dismay, she didn't see anything relevant. She could tell that Sherlock was having the same trouble that she was. His brow furrowed, creating a shallow crease on his forehead.

A short male figure came striding out of the residence, his body clad in plastic blue coveralls. Elise groaned in disgust. She would recognize the insufferable creature anywhere; Anderson.

"Ah, Anderson. Here we are again."

The grumpy man looked at Sherlock in distaste. "It's a crime scene. I don't want it contaminated. Are we clear on that?" he turned towards the dark haired teen beside Sherlock. "Especially you mini-Holmes. Don't think I've forgotten about the ice cream incident of '07."

Elise smiled menacingly. "Affair." She said simply, just as she did to Sargent Donovan a few minutes prior.

John looked at her in confusion. Why did she keep saying that?

"Didn't you say that to Sally earlier?" he whispered.

"Patience is a virtue, John." She stared down at her nails, picking.

Sherlock inhaled deeply through his nose. "Quite clear. And is your wife away for long?"

Anderson scoffed. "Don't pretend you worked that out. Someone told you that."

"Your deodorant told me that."

"My deodorant?"

"It's for men." Sherlock smirked at his daughter. They both knew where this was going.

"Well of course it's for men. I'm wearing it!"

"Could've fooled me. Sargent Donovan's wearing it too." Elise pointed out.

The two parties tensed considerably. Sherlock wrinkled his nose. "May we go in? I think it just vaporized."

Anderson's expression turned from that of shock to one of pure anger. "Now whatever you're trying to imply…"

"I'm not implying anything. I'm sure Sally came round for a nice chat and then decided to stay over."

He grabbed his daughter's arm and started ushering her inside. He swiveled around at the last moment.

"She probably scrubbed your floors too judging by the state of her knees."

Donovan and Anderson looked as if they were going to burst with embarrassment. Elise snickered and followed behind John and Sherlock who had already gone inside. She couldn't help but feel a tiny sliver of pride. Her deductions had been correct. She had even put the pieces together before Sherlock himself. Now _that_ was an accomplishment.

"So when you said 'affair'…" John asked as they walked towards the cluster of officers. "You meant…"

"Exactly."

/

Lestrade was dressing in the standard pair of plastic coveralls as the group entered the space. Elise picked up a spare garment. She looked at the hideous plastic ensemble before gingerly putting it on. Although she absolutely hated the outfit, she was breaking enough rules by even being here. She didn't want to add to the list and risk being sent home.

Her dad explained to Lestrade why John was tagging along as Elise battled to get her thick mane into a ponytail. The black curls sprung out at every angle and refused even the smallest effort to tame them. Her arms ached and she could feel the elastic straining under the weight of her locks. Seven bobby pins and two broken hair ties later, the monster was up and out of her now flushed face.

She noticed the three older men looking at her in amusement as they trekked up the flights of stairs. She sent them a challenging look and they snickered but backed off. "Men." Elise mumbled to herself. "Why don't they spend time and energy taming a savage beast of hair and see how much they like it."

Sherlock pulled on a pair of latex gloves, the rubber snapping in place against his skin.

Lestrade turned to the younger detective as they approached a rustic, wooden door.

"I can give you two minutes."

He casually adjusted the gloves. "May need a bit longer."

The DI reluctantly agreed. "Her name was Jennifer Wilson according to her credit cards. We're running them in now for contact details. Hasn't been here long. Some kids found her.'

He opened the door and led the party into the room. Elise smothered the familiar sense of apprehension growing in the pit of her stomach. Instead, she focused on her surroundings. The room was barren of any furniture besides and old rocking horse in a dusty corner. The police had set up emergency lighting all around the room. A few holes punctured the walls.

She mustered up the courage to look at the body.

The first thing she noticed was the shade of her coat; a vibrant pink. The woman even had shoes to match. She lay face down in the middle of the room, her blond hair tickling the baseboards.

Elise felt the overwhelming need to turn tail and flee, but she couldn't bring her feet to move. Her palms began to sweat inside the rubber clothing her hands. When she felt all the warmth leave her body, it was undeniable what was happening; she was about to have a panic attack.

Elise had become good at hiding these instances. Whenever one was triggered, she would usually just grit her teeth, clamp her eyes shut, and wait for it to pass. That's what she did now. Just grin and bear it.

 _Keep calm and breathe deep._

She felt a firm hand rest on her shoulder. _Dad._

She relaxed under the familiar touch and managed to unscrew her eyes a few moments later. The anxiety ebbed away before it could morph into a full blown attack.

"Ok?" he asked her.

Although the initial crisis had passed, she couldn't find her voice just yet and found herself having trouble breathing. She nodded her ok.

John and Greg looked at the girl in concern. John remembered Sherlock saying that Elise suffered from Moderate General Anxiety when they met yesterday. He was quite impressed with her ability to diffuse the situation quickly at such a young age. _I wonder how old she was when it started_.

Lestrade looked to her father for assurance that she was ok. He nodded uncertainly, gauging his child's reaction.

Elise calmed her air intake and eventually found her voice. "I'm okay. Let's just get on with it."

Sherlock composed himself and brushed the incident off. He would check up on her later. Right now there was work to be done. Still, he felt concern for his daughter niggling at the back of his brain.

He stooped down so that he was at the deceased Jennifer's level, Elise copying. The Holmes' settled into deduction mode with no further inquiry of the incident that occurred just moments before.

John watched as the two made their deductions, an admiring gaze pasted across his face.

Elise trailed a gloved finger under the woman's collar. _Damp_. She showed the wet digit to her father who nodded encouragingly. She lifted the woman's left hand and slid of the gold wedding band, passing it to the man on her right silently. He studied the inside of the ring. Then he studied the outside. After a few moments of silent deducing, trading clues back and forth, and several concentration induced frowns; they stopped. Both were smiling.

"Got anything?"

Sherlock looked up at the DI. "Nothing much."

He tugged of his gloves and helped Elise to her feet. She took off her gloves and brushed herself off, still a tad unsteady after her ordeal. He tapped something into his phone.

"She's German. 'Rache' is German for revenge. She could be trying to tell us something…"

"Yes, thanks for the input." He strode over and slammed the door straight in the forensics specialist's face.

"Good riddance." Elise muttered.

"So she's German?" Lestrade asked confusedly.

The detective didn't look up from his phone. "Of course she's not. She's from out of town, though. Intended to stay in London for one night…" He smiled smugly as he found what he sought. "…before returning home to Cardiff." His phone slid into his pocket. "So far so obvious."

John looked at him in surprise. "Sorry- Obvious?"

"What about the message then?" Lestrade asked.

"Doctor Watson, what do you think?"

"About the message?"

"About the body. You're a medical man."

Lestrade shook his head. "Wait, no, we have a whole team right outside."

Elise decided to speak up. There was no way she wanted to work with those people. "They don't work well with us."

Lestrade ignored her. "I'm breaking every rule letting you and baby Holmes in here."

Elise gritted her teeth. "I have a name you know."

"You need me." Sherlock challenged.

The two men stared at each other a moment, grey eyes boring into brown. Lestrade lowered his defensive gaze with a defeated sigh. Checkmate.

"Yes, I do. God help me."

Sherlock turned to John. "Doctor Watson?"

"Hmm?"

Elise gestured to the body. He looked to Lestrade for permission. The Scotland Yarder rolled his eyes and nodded his consent.

"Oh do as he says. Help yourself." He said tetchily. He walked sullenly to the door.

Elise patted his arm comfortingly as he passed.

She watched John do his work after a hesitant conversation with Sherlock. He placed his head next to the woman's then straightened up. He lifted her hand and studied it carefully, analyzing. He exhaled and looked at his expectant audience.

"Yeah ... Asphyxiation, probably. Passed out, choked on her own vomit. Can't smell any alcohol on her. It could have been a seizure; possibly drugs."

Sherlock raised his eyebrow. "You know what it was. You've read the papers."

This sparked John's interest. "So she was one of the suicides?"

Lestrade tapped his foot impatiently. "Sherlock I said two minutes. I need anything you've got."

Sherlock stood to his feet. "Victim is in her late thirties. Professional person, going by her clothes; I'm guessing something in the media, going by the frankly alarming shade of pink. Travelled from Cardiff today, intending to stay in London for one night. It's obvious from the size of her suitcase."

Lestrade, John, and Elise shared quizzical expressions.

"Daddy, I don't think there was a case."

"Her wedding ring. Ten years old at least. The rest of her jewelry has been regularly cleaned, but not her wedding ring. State of her marriage right there. The inside of the ring is shinier than the outside – that means it's regularly removed. The only polishing it gets is when she works it off her finger. It's not for work; look at her nails. She doesn't work with her hands, so what or rather who does she remove her rings for? Clearly not one lover; she'd never sustain the fiction of being single over that amount of time, so more likely a string of them. Simple."

"Wow." Elise grinned cheekily. "Two affairs in one day. First Donovan and now this one. I feel safe, Don't you?"

Lestrade coughed to cover his laugh. Leave it to Elise to make sarcastic comments while standing around a dead woman's body.

"That's brilliant." John praised.

Sherlock looked at him in surprise.

"Sorry."

"Cardiff?" Lestrade asked.

"Well its obvious isn't it?"

"It's not obvious to me."

Sherlock glanced at all of them in amazement.

"What's it like in your funny little brains? It must be so boring."

Elise gritted her teeth. "Enlighten us."

He turned back to the body.

"Her coat: it's slightly damp. She's been in heavy rain in the last few hours. No rain anywhere in London in that time. Under her coat collar is damp, too. She's turned it up against the wind. She's got an umbrella in her left-hand pocket but it's dry and unused: not just wind, strong wind – too strong to use her umbrella. We know from her suitcase that she was intending to stay overnight, so she must have come a decent distance but she can't have travelled more than two or three hours because her coat still hasn't dried. So, where has there been heavy rain and strong wind within the radius of that travel time?"

He whipped out his phone and flashed it to the group. "Cardiff."

John and Elise grinned while Lestrade just looked on, jaw dropped. "Fantastic!"

"Do you realize you do that out loud, John?"

He looked down sheepishly. "I'll just shut up-"

"No…its fine."

"Yup." Elise teased. "You are a lot less annoying than I."

John patted her shoulder gratefully.

"Why do you keep talking about a suitcase?"

Sherlock clapped his hands together and spun around the room. "Yes, where is it. She must have had a phone or an organizer. Find out who Rachel is."

"She was writing 'Rachel'?"

"No, she was leaving an angry note in German" Sherlock's voice dripped in sarcasm. "Of course she was writing Rachel; no other word it can be. Question is: why did she wait until she was dying to write it?"

"A clue? Message?" Elise proposed.

"Could be."

"How d'you know she had a suitcase?"

Sherlock pointed down to the body. Elise finally noticed her tights had small black splotches on the lower part of her right leg. Mud splatters.

"Back of the right leg: tiny splash marks on the heel and calf, not present on the left." Elise began. "She was dragging a wheeled suitcase behind her with her right hand. Don't get that splash pattern any other way. Smallish case, going by the spread. Case that size, woman this clothes-conscious: could only be an overnight bag, so we know she was staying one night. Am I right?" she asked her father.

"Read my mind." She smiled at him and he winked proudly at her.

He squatted down by the woman's body to examine the backs of her legs thoroughly.

"Now, where is it? What have you done with it?"

"There wasn't a case." Lestrade argued.

He raised his head and frowned at the Detective Inspector.

"Say that again."

"There wasn't a case. There was never any suitcase."

"There had to have been." Elise defended. "There is no other way she could've gotten those splatter on her calf without one. Someone must've taken it." Realization dawned on her. "Maybe it wasn't suicide." She whispered

Sherlock straightened up and headed for the door, shouting as he made his way downstairs. Elise scrambled speedily after him.

"Suitcase! Did anyone find a suitcase? Was there a suitcase in this house?"

"Dad…"

'Not now!" he gripped his head and shook it.

"Sherlock, there was no case!" Lestrade and the former army doctor stood by Elise on the Landing.

"But they take the poison themselves; they chew, swallow the pills themselves. There are clear signs. Even you lot couldn't miss them.

"Right, yeah, thanks! And ...?" he looked irritated now.

"It's murder, all of them. I don't know how, but they're not suicides, they're killings – serial killings."

The pieces clicked in her head. "The murderer must've taken it."

The curly haired detective chuckled in delight. "We've got ourselves a serial killer. I love those. There's always something to look forward to."

"Why are you saying that?" Greg shouted.

Sherlock stopped in his tracks and shouted up at them excitedly. "Her case! Come on, where is her case? Did she eat it? Someone else was here, and they took her case. So the killer must have driven her here; forgot the case was in the car.

"She could have checked into a hotel, left her case there.'

"No, she wouldn't have time." Elise was pacing now.

"Right! Look at her hair. She color-coordinates her lipstick and her shoes. She'd never have left any hotel with her hair still looking...

Elise stopped pacing. She and her father reached the same conclusion in perfect harmony

"Oh!" he exclaimed.

"I see…" Elise said slowly.

"Lestrade, send Elise back to Baker Street."

The girl in question looked up sharply. "What? Why?!"

"I need to do something. Besides, you have school tomorrow."

"I-"

"Nonnegotiable. Ooh serial killers are always hard. You've got to wait for them to make a mistake."

"Well we are done waiting." Lestrade busted out.

"Right indeed." He hurried down the stairs. "Look at her, really look! Houston, we have a mistake. Get on to Cardiff: find out who Jennifer Wilson's family and friends were. Find Rachel!"

"Of course yeah- but what mistake."

"Pink!" he dashed off without another word.

"Dad I can help!" she started to follow him.

Lestrade grabbed her arm to hold her back. She glowered up at him.

"Let go."

"Sherlock said to take you home."

"But I want to help."

Lestrade sighed irritably. "You can help everyone by going home. Unpack or something when you get there."

She sighed in defeat. "Fine." She turned to John. "Are you coming?"

He shook his head. "I'll catch a cab. I don't really like riding in police cars."

She shrugged noncommittally. "Suit yourself. See yah later."

She followed Lestrade outside. The cool night air hit her like a ton of bricks, the atmosphere denser than that of the house. The humidity told Elise that there would be a small chance that it would rain tomorrow. She hoped that it did. London could use a good cleaning.

 **A/N: leave me a review if you don't mind terribly ;). Hope that all my fellow American readers had a good Fourth of July weekend. I know I did.**

 **Thanks**


	3. A Study In Pink pt2

**Chapter 3: A Study in Pink Pt2- Messages and killer cabbies.**

 **A/n: I do not own Sherlock BBC. Rights to the respective creators. I only own my OC'S and original ideas.**

 **Also, the transcript I use as reference for this story will be posted in my bio.**

 **Thanks and Happy reading!**

 **-TheCurlyGal6218**

… **..**

When Elise entered the flat, Mrs. Hudson was bustling about in the kitchen. The old woman stood over the stove, scraping noodles around a wok with a wooden spoon. The heavenly aroma of soy sauce and steamed veggies wafted to the teen's nostrils. Oh how Elise loved chineese food.

"Hello dearie." Mrs. Hudson geeted cheerily. " I decided to make stir fry for you and the boys. Where's Sherlock and John?"

Elise wrinkled her nose slightly at the mention of her father. She still couldn't believe that he left her behind!

"My dad went to investigate something about the newest victim. Lestrade dropped me off and John took a cab. Said he didn't like riding in police cars." She sat down at the table. "Did Gizmo eat?"

"Oh he nibbled on some cucumber. Didn't eat to much I'm afarid. You may want to give him a bit more just in case."

Elise shrugged and walked over to the refrigerator. She was glad that her dad hadnt already started storing his experiments in there. While she had grown used to seeing severed limbs next to the milk jug, she wasn't eager to have the kitchen stinking of flesh again. She still remembered the first day she had discovered a severed head in the freezer at the tender age of six years old. It had taken two Twix bars and 3 fairy tales to console her.

Elise shook her head at the memory as she deseeded and sliced the cucumbers. Her life was just _so_ weird.

Gizmo gummed hungrily on the cucumber slice. His big chubby cheeks swished the vegetable juice around before swallowing the crushed up pulp. Elise laughed.

"Wow, you really were hungry! It's a wonder you didn't eat for Mrs. Hudson. I thought you liked her." She nudged her nose against the animal's fur. He squealed from the back of his throat in contempt, nuzzling his owner's nose.

She fed her pet the rest of the sliced food by hand before carying him into the living room. She picked up her book from where she left it on the couch earlier and sat down to read.

Gizmo squirmed a bit in her lap.

"Stay still Gizzy." She scolded gently. "There's a good boy."

Elise opened her book to the where she left off in the last chapter. She had read the second installment of The Hunger Games Trilogy dozens of times, but she didn't care. This was her favorite book out of the series. She loved Suzzane Collins' writing style and had lapped up her words like a starving hostage upon first reading. Even now that she knew the story, her hands eagerly turned the pages, invigorated in the tale of a girl on fire.

Elise read the last sentence of the novel for the 13th time _: "There is no district twelve."_

It was _so_ good.

Elise petted the now sleeping guinea pig in her arms. Her eyes drooped a bit. _Gosh_ was she tired. It had been an extremely long day. If the 'suicide' cases weren't enough, she had to go to school tomorrow. It wasn't that Elise didn't like school, she just would rather be out solving crimes with her dad instead of listening to a boring Algebra lecture while disintersted teens pretended to take notes.

Was that to much to ask?

Elise sighed and looked at her now finished book. She was running out of things to read. _Maybe I can stop at the bookstore afterschool tomorrow. Daddy probably won't mind. I still have money saved from that bet with Christina. Maybe she'll want to come too._

Christina Bentley had been her best friend since they were seven years old. The girls had met in Mrs. Millgrim's second grade class when they were paired up to perform a scene from a book of their choosing. Elise was pleasently surprised to learn that Christina shared the same deep love of books as she did. It was an immediate friendship.

Since both friends read well above the second grade reading level and didn't like the provided book choices, they asked the teacher if they could monologue a scene from _Cinderella._

It was memeorable to say the least.

Apparently, the teachers thought that the girl's were going to show the Disney version of things rather than the original story by Brothers Grimm. In the original story, the stepsisters cut off their toes in order to fit into the glass slippers the prince was parading around, both desperate to wed him. Elise had brought in real severed toes from one of Sherlock's experiments to show her class. Christina and Elise hadnt realised that this may disturb some of their more sensitive classmates. They were suspended for 3 days for the violent portrayl of the fairy tale and Elise wasn't allowed near any of her dad's experiments for almost two months.

Ah memories.

After that, the two were inseperable. Christina would go to Elise's house and they would play detective, sciencetist, and anything else they could think of. If they begged enough, Sherlock would take them to the library and let them pick out some books while he deduced the the place's inhabitants. When Elise went over to Christina's, her mother would help them bake cupcakes in their kitchen. The girls would always lick the batter when she wasn't looking. Elise would come home, hyper from the sugar she consumed, arms laden with cupcake boxes.

They had always been there for each other. When Elise was diagnosed with GAD when they were eight, it was Christina who reminded her to take her medication and marathoned cooking shows with her while she digested her situation. When Christina's father left her family when they were eleven, Elise helped her babysit her little brother while her mother went on job interviews. A bond like that would never be broken.

 _Message sent 8:23 pm_

 _Want to go to the bookstore with me afterschool?- EH_

No reply. She must be busy. Elise pocketed her phone and sighed. The door slammed shut downstairs, signaling the return of her father. Gizmo started awake in her lap. She pet the nervous animal softly and whispered comforting words to soohte him. Still, the timid animal didn't relent and continued to wriggle in her arms. She was going to have to put him back before he got loose. Mrs. Hudson would have words with her if that was to happen and she didn't fancy a telling off.

Elise unlatched the wire cage and gently set her pet inside. He immediately rushed inside his little igloo and began playing with a green chew toy that was supposed to help his teeth. When Elise returned to the living room, Her dad was lying on the couch she had previously occupied. Three tan nicotine patches were stuck on his left arm. He stared up at the ceiling.

"Found anything?" she asked. Elise plunked down in his black armchair being that the couch was now taken.

He continued to stare at the ceiling.

"Not much."

Elise raised her eyebrows. She was finding that extremely hard to believe. "Really?"

"Really."

"You're lying."

He didn't respond for a moment. "What happened at the crime scene?"

Elise snorted. "Don't try and change the subject."

"I can and I will. What happened? Why did you panic? You havent panicked over a dead body since last year." He turned his head towards her. "What's going on?"

She bit her lip and looked down at the floor _. If he found out…_

"Nothing." She looked up and tried her best to hold his gaze. "I-" she was saved by the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs.

Her dad gave her a look and turned back to the ceiling, closing his eyes. Elise knew better though, he would interrogate her later. _Grea_ t. He pressed his fist against the patches on his arm, exhaling loudly as they took effect.

John bounded into the room a moment later, looking a bit flushed.

He nodded his greeting to the teen before his eyes settled quizzicaly on Sherlock.

"What are you doing?"

"Nictotine patch. Helps me think."

He lifted his right arm to showcase the patches before lowering it.

"Impossible to sustain a smoking habit in London these days. Bad news for brain work. Besides, Elise wanted me to quit."

"It's bad for your lungs." She defended. "You could get cancer. It smells awful too." She shuddered in disgust and turned to John.

"He used to come in from outside smelling _terrible._ I finally got him to quit two years ago."

John chuckled. "Well, good news for breathing."

Sherlock groaned. "Breathing. Breathing is boring."

"Is that three patches?"

Elise felt a dull buzz in her trouser pockets. She slid out her mobile and squinted as her eyes adjusted to the brightness of the screen.

 _1 new message from Christina._

She clicked on the texting icon and waited as the page loaded.

 _Sounds good. Night xx- CB_

 _Night_ _\- EH_

Elise smiled in satisfaction then tuned back into the conversation.

"I was on the other side of London!" John was saying angrily.

"There was no hurry." The detective stated calmly.

John glared at him. Sherlock continued to stare uncaringly at the ceiling. He closed his eyes.

The veteran produced the device from his pocket. "Here."

Sherlock's eyes remained closed. He held out his hand expectantly.

John glowered at him. Then, with an begrudging sigh, walked over to the brash man and handed over the phone.

John cleared his throat. "So, what happened to the case?"

"Her case."

" _He_ r case?"

"Yes, her case." He opened his eyes. 'The murderer obviously took it."

"Big mistake." Elise chimed in.

"Okay." The blonde man conceded. "He took her case- so what?"

"Its no use.' Sherlock murmured to himself. "We'll have to risk it."

"Risk what?" his daughter asked.

He ignored her and held out the phone to John. "On my desk there is a number. I want you to send a text."

"You brought me here to send a text?"

"Yes, the number on the desk."

He snatched the phone from him. The detective, oblivious to his anger, steepled his hands under his chin; Eyes once again closed. He only opened them once he noticed John hadnt gone to the table, but to the window overlooking the street.

"What's wrong?"

"Just met a friend of yours."

Elise almost choked. "A friend?" they asked in unison.

"An enemy really."

"Oh, Which one?"

"Your arch-enemy according to him. Do people even have arch enemies?"

Sherlock peered at him suspiciously. "Did he offer you money to spy on me?"

"Yes." John said truthfully.

"Did you take it?" Elise asked.

"No."

"Shame. We could've split the fee three ways. I was actually just talking about going to the bookstore tommorrow. Next time don't be so loyal."

Sherlock and John snickered.

"So who is he?"

"The most dangerous man you've ever met. And not my concern right now. On my desk – the number."

Elise frowned. She knew all of her father's enemies and associates from past cases. Who could possibly be that dangerous? What did they want with John?"

"Jennifer Wilson." John read aloud. "Wait a minute… wasn't that the dead woman?"

"Yes but that's not important. Just enter the number."

John typed the number into his phone with a shake of his head.

"Are you doing it?"

"Yes."

"Have you done it?"

"Ye- hold on!" he spluttered.

"These words exactly," Sherlock continued. " 'What happened at Lauriston gardens? I must've blacked out. "Twenty-two Northumberland Street. Please come.'" The sound of the keys stopped as John looked up at him.

"You blacked out?"

"What? No, no!." He swung his long legs over the couch and stepped right over the coffee table.

"Just type it and send it quickly." He stalked over to the kitchen.

John continued his task and glanced at Elise over the edge of the phone. She was picking her fingers. Again.

He couldn't help what came out of his mouth next.

"Doesn't that hurt?" he asked. He immediately kicked himself for it.

"What?"

 _Too late now._ "What you're doing with your fingers." He hesitated. "It's got to hurt."

She mulled this over for a minute. To be honest, she never even thought about it. It just kind of _happened._ She couldn't remember a time she hadnt done it. It was like second nature to her.

"Nope." She chose her words carefully. Her dad had materialized in the room now, listening intently. Their eyes were trained on her. Elise felt dread creep into her stomach, twisting her insides. Her throat was dry. She couldn't remember a the last time her throat was this dry. She looked down at ther hands, her ragged hands, trying desperately trying to form words. It was a simple question. All she had to do was speak. But she couldn't.

"I-" she croaked. She cleared her throat. "I don't know." She said with a forced smile.

John was beating himself up on the inside. _Stupid_. He looked for something to change the conversation. He saw Sherlock rifling through a pink suitcase.

"That's the pink lady's case. That's Jennifer Wilson's case."

Elise's mask slipped back into place and she gaped at her father. "Oh my gosh.."

"Yes, obviously."

"Do you realise how bad this look's?"

"I guess I should mention I didn't kill her." Sherlock snapped.

"No shit, Sherlock." Elise bursted.

"Watch your language. I am your parent in case you've forgotten."

"Sorry." She picked at her fingers guiltily. "But you shouldn't withhold evidence."

"Do people usually assume you are the murderer?" John asked.

Sherlock smirked. "Now and then yes."

John dropped into the armchair near the fireplace, taking favor to his injured leg.

"So how did you get this?"

"I looked."

"Where?"

"The killer must have driven her to Lauriston Gardens. He could only keep her case by accident if it was in the car. Nobody could be seen with this case without drawing attention – particularly a man, which is statistically more likely – so obviously he'd feel compelled to get rid of it the moment he noticed he still had it. Wouldn't have taken him more than five minutes to realise his mistake. I checked every back street wide enough for a car five minutes from Lauriston Gardens ... Elise quit picking your fingers. As a matter of fact, sit on your hands."

Elise rolled her eyes and complied with a huff. "I feel ridiculous."

"That's the point. Now then, I checked every back street wide enough for a car five minutes from Lauriston Gardens and anywhere you could dispose of a bulky object without being observed. Took me less than an hour to find the right skip."

"Pink, you got all that because you realised the case would be pink?"

"Well chances are it wouldn't be blue." Elise reasoned.

"Why didn't I think of that?" John asked himself.

"Because you're an idiot."

John looked up in surprise, looking slighlty wounded.

"Don't worry, almost everyone is. Even her." Sherlock nodded torwards his daughter.

"Oh don't look so smug." Elise teased. "At least I have a smidge of _tact_."

"You?" he scoffed. "Tact? Elise you cant go an hour without making a sarcastic quip. You've no more tact than I."

"Exaggerated and untrue but I'll let you make it."

John cocked his head to the side. "He does have a point though, I've only known you a couple hours and the sarcasm radiating off you is… impeccable." He laughed as she scowled playfully at him.

"My sarcasm is completely warranted and if I remember correctly has made you both laugh on multiple occasions. We're getting off topic."

Sherlock shook his head. "Right, enough distractions. Now look," he pushed the case closer. "What's missing?"

"How should we know?" John asked.

"Her phone. Where's her mobile phone? There was no phone on the body, there's no phone in the case. We know she had one – that's her number there; you just texted it."

"Maybe she left it at home." John offered.

"She has a string of lovers and she's careful about it. She never leaves her phone at home. Elise?"

She removed her hands from under her and started removing the bobby pins from her hair. They were beginning to hurt. "Well she couldn't have dropped it as there was no phone at the scene…"

She tugged the last pin free and set then deposited the pile on the coffee table. Her hands worked to tug her coal curls out of the scrunchie. "I honestly don't know." She winced in pain as the elastic snapped against her wrist. Her mane broke free of their prison, flopping in her eyes. Elise deftly brushed it out of her eyes and to the side of her neck. She spat out a bit that had gotten stuck in her mouth.

The group was silent for a minute.

She gasped abruptly and struck her palm against her forehead. "Ugh stupid!"

"Where's her phone now, Elise." Her dad asked. He knew the answer of course, but wanted to see if his kin had reached the same conclusion.

"The murderer!" She bursted out. "He could've taken it!"

John whipped around to face Sherlock. "You think the murderer has the phone?"

"Maybe she left it when she left her case. Maybe he took it from her for some reason. Either way, the balance of probability is the murderer has her phone."

"You. Made. Him. Text. A. Murderer." Elise said disbelivingly.

His eyes widened. "Did I just text a murderer?! What good will that do?"

Just as he said that, a ringing trilled throughout the now silent flat.

"Is that…" Elise whispered.

"A few hours after his last victim, and now he receives a text that can only be from her. If somebody had just found that phone they'd ignore a text like that, but the murderer ..." he paused dramatically. The phone stopped ringing.

"-Would panic." He closed the suitcase and walked over to where his coat was hanging. John and Elise stared warily at the phone in front of them.

John looked up after a pregnant moment. "Have you talked to the police?"

"Four people have died. There isnt time to talk to the police."

"Then why are you talking to me."

"Mrs. Hudson took my skull."

"He really likes that skull." Elise explained

"So basically I'm filling in for your skull?"

"Relax you're doing fine."

Sherlock looked at John expectantly. "Well?"

"Well what?"

"You could just sit there and watch telly."

"You want me to come?" he asked. There was a slight tinge of hopefullness to his tone.

"I like company when I go out, and I think better when I talk aloud. The skull just attracts attention, so ..."

"Wait," Elise stood up. "Arent I coming?"

"No, you have school tommorrow and you nearly had a panic attack earlier. Forgive me if I think you arent exactly fit to go out chasing after a murderer at the moment."

"Earlier was just a fluke! I can handle it now. In case you didn't notice, I managed to gain control before it got to bad."

Sherlock gritted hos teeth. "Elise-"

"Please." She gave him her best puppy dog eyes and poked out her bottom lip so it quivered in mock sadness.

"No." He took one look at her crestfallen face and sighed. "I promise you can come next time. Right now, I want you to go get your things ready for school." He took a look at her hands and picked one up to examine it. "Bandage your hands up." He released her and gave her a quick peck on the forehead.

"Doctor Watson?"

He didn't say anything.

"Problem?"

John faltered a bit. "Yeah, Sargeant Donovan."

He looked away, exasperated. "What about her?"

"She said you get off on this- you enjoy it."

"And I said 'dangerous,' and here you are." He walked out the door.

John and Elise sat in silence. He looked at her in contemplation.

She rolled her eyes and threw her hands up in the air. "Go!"

John hesitated. He twideled his cane around in his fingers.

"Damn it!" he used his cane to push himself up and hurried as fast as he could after the detective.

Elise shook her head in amusement.

"Have fun." She said to no one.

/

Elise was bandaging her hands up in the bathroom when she heard the front door open. At first, she thought it was her dad and John returning from their adventure until she realised more than two voices were speaking _. Intruders_. She scanned the en suite for anything she might be able to use as a weapon, banging her foot against the cabinet in the process. She winced in pain and grabbed the first thing her hands settled on, a pink plastic razor.

Holding the makeshift weapon, she tiptoed on feather light feet, listening with her ear against the door. She could hear a mixture of male and female voices speaking. Through the wood of the door, one familiar voice registered in her voice.

"Bloody hell." Elise groaned loudly. She turned the handle and walked angrily out the door. Her suspicions were confirmed when she saw Lestrade and his team rummaging through the living room.

"Check in there." He was saying to a brunette woman.

"Lestrade, what is this?" she asked angrily.

He looked up, noticing her for the first time.

"Oh, didn't know you were here. Thought the flat was empty."

"Well you thought wrong. Why are you here?"

"We're er…" he scratched the back of his neck. "Drug search."

Elise scoffed. "Bullcrap." She spat. "He's been clean for years."

"Watch it! Sometimes I honestly think you forget you're a child and we're the adults."

"Well maybe I wouldn't if your lot didn't act like petty toddlers." She nodded her head torwards Anderson who was rifling through a box of her books. She stalked over to him and snatched a paperback from him, clonking him over the head with it.

"Careful with those! I swear to god if you mess up any of my books, you'll lose a finger."

She turned back to the DI, managing to find some calm.

"What's the real reason you're here."

He ignored her and continued his search.

"Fine. Don't tell me! My dad should be here soon anyway." She sighed and flopped on the couch, ignoring the sideways glances the bustling officers were giving her.

She picked at the new bandages on her fingers. There was one on each digit, the flesh colored top layer blending in (More or less) with her creamy skin.

To her surprise, Lestrade's tall form came to where she was sitting, towering over her.

"Your dad would tell you to stop." He said gently. "As he's not here, I'm taking that responsibility. Stop."

Elise shook her head slightly and sat on her hands. She looked up to meet his father like eyes. "Happy?" she asked pointedly.

"Very." He patted her shoulder comfortingly.

He walked back to John's armchair and sat down with a grunt.

Elise heard the sound of approaching footsteps and inwardly cheered. They were back.

The front door burst open, revealing the tall detective. He stormed over to Lestrade, his eyes crackling murderously.

"What are you doing here?"

"Well I knew you would find the case. I'm not stupid."

Elise laughed mirthlessly. "So that's why you're here! You're a bloody liar."

"You can't just break into my flat. Especially not when Elise is by hereslf at night."

"We didn't know she was here!" Lestrade defended. "We thought she had run off with you. And you cant withold evidence. Besides, we didn't _break_ in."

"Then what do you call this?"

"He told me they were looking for drugs." Elise said with a roll of her eyes. "I told him they wouldn't find anything."

"This guy?" john laughed disbelivingly. "A junkie? Have you met him?"

"John…" Sherlock warned.

"I'm pretty sure you could search this flat all day, you wouldn't find anything you could call recreational. He's got a kid!"

"John, you probably want to shut up now."

He turned to face him. "Yeah, but come on."

He held Sherlock's gaze for a long moment, realization trickiling in.

"Talk about awkward." Elise muttered.

"No." John said.

"What?"

" _You_?"

"Shut up." He brushed off angrily. He focused on Lestrade.

"I'm not your sniffer dog."

"No, Anderson's my sniffer dog."

"What?" sherlock swiveled around to face the forensics man who had migrated to the kitchen.

"Anderson, what are you doing here on a drugs bust?"

"Oh, I volunteered." He said happily.

"They all did actually." Lestrade admitted. "They're not strictly speaking on the drugs squad, but they're very keen."

Donovan enetred the room holding a jar full of eyeballs.

"Are these human eyes?"

"Put those back!"

"They were in the micorwave."

"They're for an experiment!"

Elise raised her eyebrows. Apparently she had been wrong earlier about storing limbs in the kitchen.

"Keep looking guys." Lestrade announced. He adressed Sherlock. "Or you could help us properly and I'll stand them down."

"This is childish."

"Well, I'm dealing with a child. Sherlock, this is our case. I'm letting you in. I;m letting baby holmes in despite her being underage-"

"I would really appreciate it if you lot would stop refering to me as 'baby Holmes'. Its demeaning."

He sighed and scrubbed his hand down his face. "Apoligies, Elise. But you don't go off on your own." He said to the consulting detective. "Clear?"

The latter glared at him.

"Oh, what, so-so-so you set up a pretend drugs bust to bully me?"

"Its stops being pretend if they find something."

"I'm clean! I don't even smoke."

He rolled up his sleeve to reveal his remaining nicotine patch.

"Neither do I." the DI rolled up his own sleeve so that he could see a similair plaster on his arm.

They both rolled their sleeves down, accepting this information.

"So lets work together, we've found Rachel."

Elise perked up at this. "Really? Who is it?"

"Jennifer Wilson's only daughter."

Sherlock frowned at this. " Her daughter? Why would she write her daughter's name? Why?"

"Never mind that, we found the case." Anderson piped up. "According to someone, the murderer has the case, and we found it in the hands of our favourite psychopath."

Elise's disdain for him grew with each word he uttered. He was worse than _Donovan_.

"I'm not a physchopath, Anderson. I'm a high functioning sociopath. Do your research."

He dismissed the bitter male and turned to much friendlier Greg Lestrade.

"You need to bring Rachel in. You need to question her. _I_ need to question her."

"She's dead."

"Excellent!" John looked at him fretfully. Even Elise was a bit perturbed.

"How, when and why? Is there a connection? There has to be."

Lestrade exhaled heavily. "Well, I doubt it, since she's been dead for fourteen years. Technically she was never alive. Rachel was Jennifer Wilson's stillborn daughter, fourteen years ago."

Elise frowned somberly. _Poor lady._

 _Poor Rachel._

"No that's … not right… I mean… why would she do that?"

Anderson scoffed. "Why would she think of her daughter in her last few moments? You have a kid, wouldn't you? Yep, I'm seeing it now, sociopath."

"She wasn't just thinking of her daughter in her last moments. She scratched her name into the floor with her fingernails. She was dying. It would have hurt."

"You said that the victims all took the poison themselves, that he makes them take it. Well, maybe he ... I don't know, talks to them? Maybe he used the death of her daughter somehow."

"But that was ages ago. Why would-" he stopped and glanced at his own daughter. The image of her body lying broken on the pavement flashed in front of his eyes. He shuddered slightly. If Elise were to… he wouldn't know what he would do with himself.

"Oh."

He swallowed the lump in his throat and his emotionless mask slipped back on.

"Yeah, but if you were dying ... if you'd been murdered: in your very last few seconds what would you say?"

"Please god, let me live." John deadpanned.

Sherlock scrunched his eyes up. "Oh use your imagination."

Elise got up and walked over to Gizmo's cage near the kitchen, where the pet had began to squeak from all the noise. She didn't take him out, just rubbed her bandaged fingers through his white and black fur. His small body purred under her hand. She smiled slightly and tuned back into the conversation.

"Yeah, but if you were clever, really clever ... Jennifer Wilson running all those lovers: she was clever."

He stopped his pacing. "She's trying to tell us something."

Mrs. Hudson came trotting into the room at that moment.

"Isnt the doorbell working? Your taxi is here, Sherlock."

"I didn't order a taxi go away." The detective began pacing again.

"He means that in the best possible way." Elise reassured her.

She nodded at her with a smile. Her eyes warily scanned the now disheveled flat.

"Oh, dear. They're making such a mess. What are they looking for?"

"It's a drugs bust, Mrs Hudson." John explained.

"But they're just for my hip. They're herbal soothers." She walked away, muttering about manners under her breath.

Sherlock groaned suddenly. Elise jumped, efficently startled by his behavior. "Shut up, everybody, shut up! Don't move, don't speak, don't breathe. I'm trying to think. Anderson, face the other way. You're putting me off."

"What? My face is?"

"Doesn't it always." Elise hissed.

"ELISE HOLMES, I SAID BE QUIET. DON'T MAKE ME SAY THE WORD!" He shouted.

Elise sat there, utterly dumbstruck. _He_ never used her full name. Partly because she hated it, partly because he also hated it. He. Wouldn't. Dare.

She shrunk back, absoulutely not wanting him to go through with his threat. Anderson or Donovan know her first name.

"Come on, think." He muttered to himself.

"What about your taxi?" The landlady questioned.

"MRS. HUDSON!" he screeched.

"Oi, quit yelling at everyone!" Elise defended her. "I don't like it." She stood up to go downstairs. "I'm going to see what Mrs. Hudson is going on about."

She padded out of the room in pursuit of the woman.

The poor old lady didn't deserve to be treated so brashly by her father. Although she probably knew that the detective didn't mean to shout at her, it would probably be a good idea to apoligize on his behalf.

Curiousity also played a factor in her actions. She remembered her saying something about a taxi and wanted to know what the deal was. They hadnt ordered a cab, so why was one apparentyl here?

Her feet scrambled quickly down the steps. The wood creaked slightly under the weight of the teen.

Elise hopped to the ground from the last step, scanning the perimeter for any sign of Mrs. Hudson.

"Mrs. Hudson." She called out.

No answer. Must've gone back to her flat.

Elise readied herself to knock on her door, when she heard a soft click behind her.

She whipped around, all thoughts of talking to the landlady pushed to the backburner.

A man stood in front of her. He wore old shabby clothes, not torn up but not what one would consider nice. A newsboy cap sat atop a gray haired head. Wire glasses framed cold, sinister looking eyes. His unsettling gaze traveled up and down Elise's body, not hungrily, but calculatingly.

He finnaly brought his gaze up to meet hers.

"I believe a cab has been ordered for the Holmes family."

/

 **A/N: Did any of ya'll witness the Sherlock Christmas special teaser that came out yesterday? It was great. If you havent I recommend looking it up. Watson's mustache has made a reappearance ;D**

 **Thanks for reading! Review please?**


	4. A Study In Pink pt3

**Chapter 4: A Study in Pink pt. 3~**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock BBC. I own Elise and my OCs/ Ideas.**

 **/**

Elise stared at the man, unable to move for a moment. Her tongue felt heavy in her mouth and sweat clammed up her hands. Legs turned to jelly under the realization that suddenly flooded her mind. The teen clamped her hand down on the door knob behind her, desperate to keep steady. She wouldn't have been alarmed had his services actually been requested, but they hadnt.

That was what had unnerved her.

Here they were in the midst of a murder investigation and suddenly a strange man shows up at the flat, less than an hour from when Sherlock called the cell phone of the deceased Jennifer Wilson.

The phone that the murderer was meant to same phone which gleamed pink from the cabbie's wrinkly grasp.

Elise had to literally force herself to breath normally and not hyperventilate. She gathered her courage and pasted an emotionless mask on her face, one she prayed was convincing enough.

"So it's you." She said calmy. It was a wonder that her voice remained steady. She didn't think that she could release the knob she clutched at without keeling over, much less keep the apprehension out of her voice.

 _What exactly do you say when faced with a serial killer?_

"Excellent observation." He said sweetly. Cold eyes stared at her a moment, the phschotic smile only growing with each passing second. "I thought you would be shorter, not exactly what I expected."

 _Can he see how scared I am? God I hope not._

She clasped her hands in front of her to mask the tremble building in them.

"Bit silly to walk into a building with police officers upstairs. Don't you think? After all, you _are_ wanted for several murders. Would hate to see you be arrested."

He laughed quietly and shook her head. "Oh, I wouldn't worry darlin'. I aint' being locked up any time soon."

"What makes you think that?"

"Because you're going to help me." With that, he turned tail and stepped out the door. He paused and waited for her to follow.

She laughed nervously, a slight waver in her voice finnally cracking the surface.

"There's no way in _hell_ that I'm going anywhere with you!"

"I think you will. After all, you do love your dear daddy don't you?"

Elise bristled at the mention of her father. "What does he have to do with anything." She snapped.

He shrugged slowly. "Just didn't think you would want him to die alone."

Elise's blood ran cold at his ominous words. The color left her cheeks as the man pulled out a black handgun and aimed it at her. She watched as his finger danced over the trigger, teasing her. The barrel stared down at her, its purpose making itself clearly known;

Kill.

"I'd hate to use this. Why don't you come outside, the detective will be joining us shortly, I assure you."

/

Sherlock paced impatiently as the people around him chattered busily, trying to make sense of the growing puzzle.

"It's here. It's in two two one Baker Street."

He stopped his frantic strides and his eyes widened considerably.

"How can it be here? How?"

"Well," Lestrade scratched his neck in thought. "It could have been in the case when you brought it back and fallen out somewhere."

"What, and I didn't notice?" Sherlock said unbelievingly. "I didn't notice, _me_?"

"Anyway, we texted him and he called back." John said.

Lestrade nodded and faced his colleagues, his voice immediately taking up an authoritive tone.

"Guys, we're also looking for a mobile somewhere here, belonged to the victim ..."

Sherlock tuned him out and concentrated on the facts that he had been presented with. He wasn't going to get any closer to solving this case if he stood about chatting with these people. With his eyes firmly open and alert, he let the details frolic before him.

' _Who do we trust, even if we don't know them?'_

His eyes flickered to where Mrs. Hudson stood at the stairway. A man was slowly coming into view behind her, casually dressed, a badge hanging from his neck.

' _Who passes unnoticed wherever they go?'_

' _Who hunts in the middle of a crowd?'_

He thought of each of the four victims; Sir Jeffery Patterson, Jame Fillimore, Beth Davenport, Jennifer Wilson. One thing connceted all of these people.

Sherlock turned his head, letting the clues fit together to form a clear picture, a concise conclusion.

All of these people had taken a cab.

Sherlock reached into his pocket and pulled out his mobile as a text message came through.

 _1 message received._

 _Come with me._

He looked back to the door. The man had already retreated down the stairs, presumably to wait for him.

"Sherlock, you ok?"

The detective came back to reality with the prompting of his flatmate's voice.

His phone beeped again.

 _I suggest you hurry up. The girl is waiting for you. Bless her heart._

He gritted his teeth together in anger _. If he had so much as…_

"Sherlock."

"I'm fine." The detective said cooly. He was fighting back the urge to rush downstairs and see that Elise was ok and ensure the case was solved. He had to be normal- or as normal as he could be. The officers would just ruin it all.

Sherlock needed answers.

/

Elise sat in the back of the taxi. She picked at the bandages on her fingers as her captor closed the yellow door. She gave him a murderous glare as he walked to the building and slithered inside once more. She debated making a break for it and escaping a potentially threatening situation but quickly decided against it. The imbecile had mentioned something about hurting her dad and the day she would let that happen would be the same day a penguin flew. Never.

The casually dressed killer emerged from the house and leaned against the side of the car. Fabric from his worn cardigan pressed against the window on Elise's left. Her view of Baker Street was temporarily obstructed. Despite this, she heard the muffled conversation between him and a new arrival.

 _Dad._

"I didn't order a taxi." His gruff voice deadpanned.

"Doesn't mean you don't need one."

She grimaced painfully. The knots in her stomach, previously forgotten, twisted.

"You're the cabbie. The one who stopped outside Northumberland Street."

There was a pause. "It was you, not your passenger."

"See?" The driver began. "No-one ever thinks about the cabbie. It's like you're invisible. Just the back of an 'ead. Proper advantage for a serial killer."

The teen placed a hand to her abdomen, desperately trying to diffuse the tension present. She felt as if someone were strring her intestines with a dull knife, poking and prodding till her insides turned to soup. Unsurprisingly, she resented every moment.

"Is this a confession?" her father questioned.

"Oh, yeah. An' I'll tell you what else: if you call the coppers now, I won't run. I'll sit quiet and they can take me down, I promise."

She imagined her father's forehead creasing the way he did when he was lost in thought, the same way it did when he was confused.

"Why?"

"Because I know you won't do that."

"Am I not?" Sherlock challenged.

"I didn't kill those four people, Mr 'olmes. I spoke to 'em ... and they killed themselves. An' if you get the coppers now, I promise you one thing."

There was another brief pause. The fabric guarding her sight shifted it a bit as he speaker leaned forward. Elise could barely make out the edge of the detective's long belstaff from her view.

"I will never tell you what I said." The teen wouldn't have heard him had she not been behind him. The taxi did a wonderful job of making eavesdropping ten times harder than usual.

The man moved from his perch on Elise's side of the cab. She locked eyes with her father for approximately three seconds. Then he returned his attention to the killer."

" No-one else will die, though, and I believe they call that a result."

"An' you won't ever understand how those people died. What kind of result do you care about?"

He turned and continued to the drivers half of the vehicle. He got in and settled himself in the seat.

Then he swiveled around and smiled at the thirteen year old.

"How we doin' sweetheart?"

Elise kept her face emotionless.

"Super. Always wanted to be held hostage by a serial killer while he threatened my family's life. I'm practically _oozing_ with contempt."

He returned her comment with a sickly smile.

"Glad to hear it."

Interest lost, he acknowledged the bristling man outside the cab.

"Well?"

The consulting detective walked up to the murderer.

"If I wanted to understand, what would I do?"

"Let me take you for a ride."

Sherlock laughed mockingly. "What? So you can kill me too?"

"I don't wanna kill you, Mr 'olmes." He jerked his thumb to where Elise sat." Or her. I'm gonna talk to yer ... and then you're gonna kill yourselves."

He curled his lip in disgust. "Leave her out of this."

The cabbie shook his head. "I'm afraid I cant do that Mr. Holmes."

"And why not?" Sherlock snapped.

The man didn't reply. "Do you want answers?"

"Yes."

"Then hop on in."

He faced front again.

Sherlock reluctantly climbed into the car.

Elise relaxed a bit.

"Are you ok?" he asked her quietly.

She nodded, not trusting her voice at the moment.

He looked at her for a long while.

The teen didn't meet his eye.

Instead, she looked down at her hands, a ususal occurrence.

Sherlock grabbed one, giving her a comforting look.

It was the same look he gave her when she fell off her bike at the park when she was little. The same concerned grey eyes boring into hers when told her first major lie. The firm yet gentle grip on her wrist that held her when she cried at age 8 after her diagnoses.

It was the same man who never told her things were alright if they werent.

In this case, they would be just fine.

Hopefully.

A ringing resonated throughout the moving taxi, the source of which being the pink mobile phone.

He didn't bother to pick it up, and soon the vehicle was silent once more.

This didn't last long.

"How did you find us?"

"Oh, I recognised yer, soon as I saw you chasing my cab. Sherlock 'olmes! I was warned about you. I've been on your website, too. That's where I saw this pretty little miss." He winked at Elise through the mirror. Her eye twitched angrily.

 _This 'pretty little miss' is going to smack you upside the head if you call her that again_.

"Who warned you about me?" Sherlock asked.

"Just someone who's noticed you."

"Who?" he leaned forward in his seat, his eyes flickering over his neck then to a picture on the dash. Elise followed his gaze and examined the picture from where she sat. There were two children, a boy and girl.

The physcho had kids.

 _So does the sociopath I suppose_. _I'm evidence of that._

"Who would notice me?" Said sociopath asked.

There eyes met briefly in the mirror.

"You're to modest Mr. 'olmes."

"I'm really not."

Elise smiled slightly. Perfect example of an understatement.

"You've got yourself a fan."

Elise snorted and found her courage to speak.

"A fan? Honestly! This isn't some television show! Next thing you'll be telling me my father's a hearthrob."

The cabbie raised his eyebrow in warning.

Sherlock smirked smugly and leaned back in his seat.

"Tell me more."

"That's all your going to know." He paused a moment.

"In this lifetime."

The rest of the ride passed in tense silence.

/

The car rolled to a stop outside of two tall identical buildings.

Their murderous driver bustled out and opened the passenger door for the family.

Sherlock untangled his long legs from the cab and helped his daughter out.

"Where are we?"

"You know every street in London." The cabbie said crisply. "You know _exactly_ where we are."

"Roland- Kerr Further Education College. Why here?"

"It's open; cleaners are in. One thing about being a cabbie: you always know a nice quiet spot for a murder. I'm surprised more of us don't branch out."

Elise raised her brow. "I like to think most of London's cab driver's arent sadists."

He shrugged. "Just a thought."

"And you just walk your victims in? How?"

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the pistol from earlier. Elise tensed up again but Sherlock sighed in dissapointment.

"Oh, dull."

"It gets better." He explained.

"You can't make people take their own lives at gunpoint."

"I don't. It's much better than that."

Elise clenched her fists till the knuckled turned white. The knots in her stomach were blossoming again, more painful this time. She didn't know if she could last much longer without having a panic attack.

The cabbie lowered the gun.

"Don't need this with you, 'cause you'll follow me."

He started to make his way inside, confident that his guests would follow. Sherlock made to go after him, but Elise shot out her arm. She looked up at him with pleading eyes.

"Dad-"

"I have to. You don't have to come."

He wriggled himself free and took her face in his hands.

"I have a plan."

With no further commentary, he continued towrds the structure.

Elise stared after him for a moment _. I cant believe I'm doing this._

She got her bearings, and followed them into the college.

/

The cardigan clad man opened the door and stood aside, letting the Holmes' enter.

"Well, what do you think?"

Sherlock shrugged and Elise stood rigidly still.

"Its up to you." He said casually. "You're the ones who are going to die here."

Sherlock turned around sharply. "No we're not."

"That's what they all say." He extended his hand toward one of the benches. "Shall we talk?"

Without a reply, he sat down in one of the chairs. Sherlock did the same.

Elise stood frozen to the ground.

The cabbie looked at her challengingly.

"Care to join us?"

Skeptically, she slugged over to the table and pulled up a chair. The legs scrapped the polished ground as it shifted closer. Her eyes locked with the killer's for a moment. She twisted her mouth as she looked away.

"Bit risky, wasn't it? Took my child and I under the eye of about half a dozen policemen. They're not that stupid. And Mrs Hudson will remember you."

"You call that a risk? Nah."

His hand slid into his pocket. A beat later, a glass bottle was produced containing a white pill with pale pink flecks.

"This is a risk."

Neither of them reacted.

"Ooh, I like this bit. 'Cause you don't get it yet, do yer? But you're about to. I just have to do this."

Another bottle was placed with a clack on the tabletop.

"Weren't expecting that were you?" he leaned forward in his seat. "You're going to like this."

Sherlock inclined a bit, copying his opponent's position. "Like what?"

He sat back in his seat. "Sherlock 'olmes. Look at you! 'Ere in the flesh. That website of yours: your fan told me about it."

"His fan?" Elise croaked.

"Yes, _little girl_." He turned back to the dark haired detective. "You are brilliant. You are. A proper genius. "The Science of Deduction. Now that is proper thinking. Between you and me sitting 'ere, why can't people think?"

He glnaced down with a boilind expression. "Don't it make you mad? Why can't people just think?"

Sherlock guffawed as he realized what the man was getting at. "Oh, I see. So you're a proper genius too."

"Don't look it do I?" He waved a hand over himself. "You'll undersatnd better in a minute. Chances are it'll be the last thing you ever know."

Elise was trying her absolute hardest to remain calm. She kept telling herself that if her dad was calm, then everything would be just fine. He wouldn't just willingly walk her and himself to their impending doom.

With each passing second spent in this room, she was finding her task to be growing in rigor.

"Ok, two bottles. Explain."

"There's a good bottle and a bad bottle. If you take the pill from the good; you live. If you take the one from the bad; you die."

 _Its like the nightlock from the Hunger Games,_ Elise mused to herself. _I suppose now is not the time to make literary connections when my life is on the line._

"Both identical." Sherlock thought aloud.

"In every way." The other man confirmed.

"I presume you know which is which." She added softly.

"Course I know, _sweetheart_."

Elise bristled angrily. If she were a cartoon, smoke would be pouring from her ears and her face would be the shade of Jennifer Wison's coat. The sight would've surely been comical, but that didn't lessen the severity of the situation at hand.

"But I don't." sherlock said.

"Wouldn't be much of a game if you knew, know would it. You're the one who chooses."

Sherlock's brow knitted together. "Why should I? I've got nothing to go on. What's in it for me?"

He smiled a demented smile, the same smile that would give a fully grown man nightmares for a fortnight.

"I won't cheat. It's your choice. I'll take whatever pill you don't."

Sherlock rested his elbows on the table, fingers steepled under his chin. The cabbie tutted in triumph.

"Wasn't expecting that now 'ere you Mr. 'olmes?"

Sherlock shook his head slowly from side to side. "This is what you did to the rest of them: you gave them a choice."

"And now I'm givin' _you_ one."

Sherlock looked up finally.

"You take your time." He licked his lips hungrily. "I want my best game."

"This isnt a game, its _chance_." Sherlock corrected tersely.

"I've played four times. I'm alive. It's not chance, Mr 'olmes, it's chess." He sighed impatiently. "It's a game of chess, with one move, and one survivor. And this ... this ... is the move."

He slid the bottle on the left, towards Sherlock.

"Now did I just give you the good bottle or the bad one? You can pick either one. You're choice."

He winked at Elise.

"I'm sorry my sweetheart. I've no extra bottles on me for you to join in. What a pity."

He looked at the detective out of the corner of his eye. "You're missing all the fun."

Elise narrowed her eyes. "You never intended me to play this 'game' of yours, did you? If you had, you would have insured that you brought the extra pills." She crossed he legs in front of her and picked at her nails casually. Now that she knew more about what was going on, most of her apprehension had dissipated. This left her with only one thing; blind fact and shaky courage.

"I was never a real player in this. I was just a bait. You have no intentions of killing me despite the fact you aimed a gun at my head earlier this evening. You may be able goad 4 adults into your charade but your stomach isnt as strong as you like to think."

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat as Elise leaned closer. "Admit it, you could never kill a child." His eyes went to the table. "I'm right aren't I?"

The driver didn't respond. "Ready to play Mr. 'olmes?"

"Play what? It's a fifty-fifty chance."

"You're not playing number, you're playing _me._ Did I give you the good pill or the bad pill? Is it a bluff? Or a double bluff? Or a triple bluff?"

Sherlock's gaze was fixed on the small glass bottles. "Still just chance."

"Four people in a row? Its not just chance."

"Yup," Elise agreed. "You're just a lucky bastard."

He rolled his eyes. "Not luck, _sweetheart_. Its _genius_ , I know 'ow people think. I know how people think I think. I see it all like a map inside my 'ead…Everyone is so stupid- even you and your lovely father."

He shrugged as said father's gaze hardened. "Or maybe God just loves me."

Sherlock unsteepled his fingers and clasped his hands together in front of him. "Either way, you're wasted as a cabbie."

He lifted his intertwined fingers to his mouth.

"So you risked your life four times to kill strangers. Why?"

The man didn't answer. Instead, he jerked his head toward the bottles. "Time to play."

"Oh I am." He lowered his hand and looked intentley at him. "This is my turn. There's shaving foam behind your left ear. Nobody's pointed it out to you. Traces of where it's happened before, so obviously you live on your own; there's no-one to tell you."

He was about to go on but his daughter interuppted. "But you have children. I saw the photo back in the cab, So you must've been taken away from them. The mother isnt dead because she was skillfully cut out of the photograph. If she died, you would've kept her in. Sentiment."

His nostrils flared but he remained otherwise expressionless. Still, Elise ploughed on.

"The picture was old, so you havent seen them in awhile. If you had, it would be newer. You love your kids and it still hurts that you don't get time with them."

Her voice softened a bit. "That's why you made no plans to kill me. I remind you of what you lost."

Silenece. A small glimmer of pain filled the murderer's eyes but he said nothing. Elise couldn't help but feel a small sliver of pity for the man. She wasn't condoning his actions- taking the lives of several people isnt something that should be taken lightly- but at least she could begin to understand.

"Ah, but there's more." The familiar voice snapped her out of her thoughts.

"Your clothes: recently laundered but everything you're wearing's at least ... three years old? Keeping up appearances but not planning ahead. And here you are on a kamikaze murder spree. What's that about?"

Still no answer.

"Ahh. Three years ago – is that when they told you?"

"Told me what?" he finally responded.

"That you're a dead man walking."

"So are you."

"You don't have long. Am I right?"

To Elise's surprise, the 'dead man' smiled.

"Aneurism." He tapped the side of his head. "Right 'ere."

Sherlock smiled. Just earlier he had talked about wanting get everything right just once. Apparently, that was happening in this instance.

"Any breath could be my last."

Sherlock's smile morphed into a frown.

"And because you're dying, you've just murdered four people."

Elise exhaled loudly. "I've got to be honest, I was expecting a better motive."

"I've outlived four people. That's the most fun you can 'ave on an aneurism." He said.

Sherlock twisted his mouth. "No. No, there's something else. You didn't just kill four people because you're bitter. Bitterness is a paralytic. Love is a much more vicious motivator. Somehow this is about your children."

The dying man sighed, turning his head away in slight submission.

"Oh, you are good ain't ya'?"

"But how?"

"How could killing innocent people correlate to your children?" Elise asked.

"When I die, they won't get much, my kids." He admitted. "Not a lot of money in driving cabs."

"Or serial killing."

"You'd be surprised."

Elise quirked her brow. "Surprise me."

"I 'ave a sponsor."

"You have a what?" Sherlock spat.

"For every life I take, money goes to my kids. The more I kill, the better off they'll be. You see? It's nicer than you think."

Sherlock shook his head bemusedly. "Who'd sponsor a serial killer?"

"Who'd be a fan of Sherlock Holmes?"

The two men locked eyes in a brutal staring contest. Elise's skin was pale at the sickening information.

 _A serial killer was being sponsored by a fan of her father's to support his kids._

"You're not the only one to enjoy a good murder. There's others out there just like you, except you're just a man ..." he gestured to Elise. "-And your just kid. They're so much more than that."

"Who're we talking about here?" Elise asked quietly.

"What d'you mean, more than a man? An organisation? What?" his nose twitched in irritation. He hated being baffled.

"There's a name no-one says, an' I'm not gonna say it either. Now, enough chatter."

The trio looked at the daunting little capsules.

"Time to choose."

Sherlock's eyes darted between the two objects. One held certain death for him, the other a certain death for the cabbie.

A roll of a dice in which you could die.

The homicidal taxi driver sighed and took out his pistol. The sides gleamed in the harsh light of the color drained from Elise's cheeks when he aimed it at her dad nonchalantly. _He wouldn't…_

"You can take your fifty-fifty chance, or I can shoot you in the head."

 _Apparently he would._

Sherlock didn't even flinch. Staring stoically at the gun, he smiled.

"Surprisingly, no one's gone for that option." He admitted.

"I'll have the gun." Sherlock said felt her heart drop down to her feet.

"What? Dad what are you-"

"Trust me." He said dissmisivally. To the weapon weilder; "The gun please."

"Are you sure?"

"Deffinitely, the gun."

Silent tears trailed down Elise's face. She couldn't believe that this was happening.

"Da-"

"Elise do stop crying. I know what I'm doing ."

She wiped her face and stopped the flow of salty liquid. She had to trust him right now. If she didn't, she knew that the anxiety would send her into an attack. The last thing she wanted was to have her disorder disaplyed in front of a decreed killer.

"The gun." Sherlock said confidently.

The cabbie hesitated for a second before pulling the trigger.

No bullet came out. Just a small spark and pop.

Elise let out a shuddering breath and closed her eyes.

She tried in vain to erase the image of a gun aimed at Sherlock's form.

The threat had passed. To her, it still felt like it was again, when you were like her, the danger never truly left.

All it would take was one little thing to send her into a panic frenzy.

 _Keep calm and breath deep._

"I know a real gun when I see one."

"The others didn't." he pointed to the tearful teen. "She didn't."

Elise's jaw clenched and her vision went red.

In a frenzy of anger, she walked straight up to the driver-

And slapped him across the cheek.

Hard.

"You bloody bastard! I oughta shove that 'gun' into your throat."

Sherlock gently grabbed her arm as she reared back to pummel him.

"Save it for someone worth it daughter dearest. I believe we are done here." He said to Jeff, not taking his eyes off his trembling daughter. "Well, this has been very interesting. I look forward to the court case."

He ushered his child out, a hand on her arm.

"Just before you go," Jeff called. "Did you figure it out?"

The Holmes family stopped in their tracks.

"Of course, child's play."

"Which one then?"

The detective eased the door open a bit, but didn't step forward.

"Which one would you 'ave picked, just so I know whether I could have beaten you?" the man teased. "Come on, play the game."

"Your freaking demented." Elise said plainly.

But Sherlock went back. He never lost a game. Elise knew that. She accepted it even. She just wished that everything didn't have to be like chess. Except in this game, there is no restart option.

Her dad swept a bottle off the table and walked past Jeff.

"Oh, interesting." The man crooned. "Shall we?"

He didn't receive an answer.

"Really, what do you think?" He said standing up. "Can you beat me? Are you clever enough to bet your life?I bet you get bored, don't you? I know you do. A man like you ..."

Sherlock unscrewed the lid of the bottle.

"Daddy-"

" ... so clever. But what's the point of being clever if you can't prove it? Still the addict. But this ... this is what you're really addicted to, innit? You'd do anything ... anything at all … to stop being bored. You're not bored now, are you?

The pills were near their mouths now.

"Innit good?"

Then there was a gunshot.

/

 **A/N: Leave a review please!**


	5. I Know What You're Hiding

**Chapter 5: I know what you are hiding.**

 **A/N: Thank you to all that are following, favoriting, and reviewing. I sent a reply to the commenter with an account and the replies to the guest reviews from the past four chapters will be at the end. Thanks for the continued support: D**

 **~ TheCurlyGal6218**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock BBC. I own Elise and my OCs/ original ideas.**

/

Elise sat on the back of the ambulance. One of the paramedics had draped an orange blanket across her shoulders before doing the same for her annoyed father. Apparently, it was supposed to help with shock and trauma.

Elise was definitely shocked, but she did not think it stretched as far as traumatizing. Then again, she was no doctor.

The cabbie was dead, shot by a stranger. She could not look at him as he writhed on the floor in excruciating pain so she did not. Her eyes stayed firmly closed after the piercing gunshot. However, the conversation between her father and the wounded killer etched firmly in her mind.

" _Was I right?" the detective asked._

 _No response._

" _I was, wasn't I? Did I get it right?_ "

 _Still, nothing but whimpers of pain_.

" _Okay, tell me this: your sponsor. Who was it? The one who told you about me – my 'fan'. I want a name."_

" _No." the man uttered weakly._

" _You're dying, but there's still time to hurt you. Give me a name."_

" _You... Would not… hurt me… in front of… her." The cabbie coughed and Elise hear him spit out a mouthful of liquid. Blood._

 _The teen heard shuffling and there was a cry of pain._

" _Her eyes are closed. A name."_

 _Elise peeked through her closed eyelids before opening them fully._

 _Her father towered over the man, his foot digging painfully into his shoulder_

" _Now."_

 _She quickly pressed them closed._

" _Dad, you don't have to-"_

 _Jeff whined loudly in discomfort. His face manic, Sherlock leaned his weight onto his foot._

" _The NAME!"_

"MORIARTY!"

 _His eyes fluttered and his head rolled to the side. Sherlock stepped back, turning his head away and reflecting what just happened. After a few seconds, he silently mouthed the name._

 _Elise opened her eyes hesitantly._

" _Is he…" she swallowed hard. "Is he dead?"_

" _Yes."_

 _Moriarty…_

 _/_

Elise watched as a familiar grey headed DI came closer to the ambulance.

"Hey, Lestrade." She greeted cheerfully. He looked at her suspiciously for a moment. Of course he expected her to look frightened, why wouldn't he? Nevertheless, Elise was stubborn. Weakness would not be shown unless it was truly dire. While what she had witnessed was gruesome in its own right, the killer was off the streets. That's all that truly mattered.

That and the fact that no one else was harmed.

"Hello Elise."

"Why have I got this blanket?" Sherlock asked. "They keep putting this blanket on me."

"They said it was for shock, daddy."

"I'm not in shock."

"Yeah," Lestrade piped up. "But some of the guys want to take pictures."

He grinned evilly while the consulting detective scowled.

"So, the shooter." He said briskly. "No sign?"

The DI sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face tiredly. "Cleared off before we got 'ere. A person like that would have had enemies, I suppose. One of them could have been following him but ... got nothing to go on."

The detective looked at him pointedly. "I wouldn't say that."

Lestrade rolled his eyes. "Ok, gimee."

He stood up. "The bullet they just dug out of the wall's from a hand gun. Kill shot over that distance from that kind of a weapon – that's a crack shot you're looking for, but not just a marksman; a fighter. His hands could not have shaken at all, so clearly he is acclimatized to violence. He did not fire until I was in immediate danger, though, so strong moral principle. You're looking for a man probably with a history of military service..."

His eyes trailed over to the police tape. There stood John Watson, his hands in his pockets, a nervous expression on his face.

"Actually, do you know what? Ignore me."

Elise stood in befuddlement, not noticing the moment between her father and the army doctor.

"What? Why?"

"Ignore all of that. It's just the, err, the shock talking."

He grabbed Elise's hand and began walking toward John.

"Where are you going?" Lestrade blustered.

"I need to talk about the-the rent."

"But I've still got questions."

Elise broke free of his grip. "Yeah. Besides, we can talk to John at home."

Sherlock gave her a look and grabbed her hand again.

"Play along." He hissed.

Elise narrowed her blue eyes accusingly, but made no further objections.

"Sherlock?"

The man groaned and swiveled around. "Oh, what now? I'm in shock! Look, I have a blanket"

Elise held up her own orange fabric. "Uh… so do I."

"And we just caught you a serial killer, more or less."

Greg Lestrade looked at the pair thoughtfully, swirling his tongue over his teeth. "Okay." He eventually relented. "We'll bring you in tomorrow. Off you go."

The DI watched as Sherlock and Elise walked away, the detective not wasting any time to remove his blanket. Elise removed hers too, tossing it uncaringly to the side. A blanket that hideous of an orange would be no use to her not the tall man beside her.

John fidgeted as they grew ever closer.

"Um, Sergeant Donovan's just been explaining everything, the two pills. Been a dreadful business, hasn't it? Dreadful."

Elise nodded, agreeing but Sherlock just stared at him a moment.

"Good shot." He said quietly

Elise stared at him with burning perplexity.

"What are you talking about? Good shot? That's… oh my gosh!" her eyes widened to the size of saucers. "It was you?" she said in a hushed whisper.

He shifted on his feet.

"Need to get the powder burns out of your fingers. I don't suppose you'd serve time for this, but let's avoid the court case."

John nodded but continued to stare at his shoes.

Elise tentatively reached a hand out to set on his shoulder.

"You ok?" she asked.

"I'm fine." He said with a hard swallow.

"Well you did just kill a man." Sherlock said pointedly.

"Yes and your kid just _witnessed_ that." He gave her a small hug. "I'm sorry."

She broke away after a few seconds and grimaced. "I'd rather not ponder that. God knows what would happen if I do."

The veteran's expression grew even more somber.

"He wasn't a very good man."

"There's always that."

"And frankly, he was a bloody awful cabbie."

Sherlock smiled. "That's true. He _was_ a bad cabbie. Should have seen the route he took us to get here!"

They burst out into laughter.

"Stop it! We can't giggle." John said breathlessly. "It's a crime scene."

"You're the one who shot him. Don't blame me."

Elise kicked him in the shin and he winced at the force. "Dad! Someone will hear you! If he gets arrested, we'll have to find another flat mate." Her eyes glinted mischievously. "We might not be so lucky next time. This one actually puts up with you."

The veteran smiled genuinely at her as the group continued walking. He was glad to be appreciated among his newly found friends- if they could even be called that- but the guilt of what he had done was starting to catch up. While John Watson was no stranger to ending a life at the hands of a gun, that was in the midst of war. This was everyday life. It seemed to make it even more real, more morally defective. Alas, the past couldn't be changed. If you were going to make it in the world, that fact would have to be learned rather quickly.

"Were you really going to take the pill?" He needed to distract himself from his thoughts. Anything would help at this stage.

"Course I wasn't. Simply biding my time, knew you would show up.

"No you didn't. Its how you get your kicks isn't it? You risk your life to prove you are clever."

"Why would I do that?" he questioned.

"Because you're an idiot."

"And a liar." His daughter spoke up.

Sherlock scoffed. "At least I didn't cry when the so called gun was pulled."

The smile vanished from Elise's face, morphing eerily into an expressionless mask.

"Not good?" Her father quizzed guiltily.

"Nope."

Awkward silence. You could saw the tension with a knife. Of all the things Sherlock Holmes could've said in that moment, that had to be the absolute worst route to take.

"I didn't cry because a gun was pulled." She said finally. "I cried because that horrible man pointed it at _you_." Her fingers intertwined with his.

"I thought he was going to kill you."

"I knew the gun was a fake." Sherlock said quietly.

"Yeah, well I didn't." the teen snapped. She took a deep breath through her nose to calm herself down. All she honestly wanted to do was go to sleep.

"Dinner?"

"Starving." John said.

"Mrs. Hudson made stir-fry."

"Sounds good to me."

As they continued walking, a sleek black car pulled up a few yards ahead. An impeccably dressed man brandishing an umbrella gracefully stepped out, a texting woman with sleek black hair following.

"Sherlock, That's him. That's the man I was talking to you about." John pointed.

Sherlock looked across at the man.

"I know exactly who that is."

Elise sighed. "As do I."

She really wished that he hadn't picked this particular moment to make an appearance. Today had been extremely long and she had to face school tomorrow. All she really wanted to do was eat her late dinner and hit the hay. Perhaps she could be bothered to face him tomorrow.

Alas, the universe didn't agree with her.

Their little group walked closer to the man. John was on high alert, deciphering whether or not the near officers would be required to diffuse the seemingly dangerous situation. Father and daughter were only slightly more relaxed. Annoyance seemed to be the mutually dominate emotion in that instance.

"So, another case cracked." The tailored man spoke bitingly. "How very public spirited ... though that's never really your motivation, is it?"

"Well hello to you too." Elise retorted.

"What are you doing here?" Sherlock asked with irritation.

"As ever, I'm concerned about you."

"Yes, I've been hearing about your 'concern'." He glanced at John with a roll of his eyes.

"Always so aggressive. Did it never occur to you that you and I belong on the same side?"

"Oddly enough, no!"

"We have more in common than you like to believe. This petty feud between us is simply childish. People will suffer ... and you know how it always upset Mummy."

John frowned as the information settled into his head.

"I upset her? Me?" Sherlock asked incredulously. "It wasn't me that upset her, Mycroft."

"No, no, wait. Mummy? Who's Mummy?" John asked

"Mother – our mother. This is my brother, Mycroft."

"My uncle." Elise added.

John stared at the man in amazement.

Sherlock sniffed, turning a moment to face the way they had come before zeroing in on his brother. "Putting on weight again?"

"Losing it, in fact."

Elise nodded in agreement. She strode over to her uncle. "Yep he's definitely less pudgy than I remember." She poked him in the stomach experimentally. "Did you cut cake out of your diet completely or are you simply lessening daily intake?"

He batted her hand away from him as if she was a fly.

"Stop that."

Elise shrugged and held her hands up in defense. "Just saying."

John cleared his throat and turned to the consulting detective, his breath billowing out in the cool London night. "He's your brother?"

"Of course he's my brother.

"So he's not ..." the blonde man trailed off.

"Not what?"

The brothers and child looked at John as he shrugged in embarrassment.

"I don't know – criminal mastermind?"

Mycroft grimaced at the implication and Elise laughed in amusement. That statement couldn't be even more untrue. The eldest Holmes despised getting his hands dirty, only doing so if absolutely needed. It was no surprise he had opted to employ a job with as little legwork at possible. Sherlock's career was a different story entirely, a clear testament of their differences.

Sherlock looked at Mycroft disparagingly.

"Close enough."

"For goodness' sake. I occupy a minor position in the British government."

"He is the British government," Sherlock argued. "When he's not too busy being the British Secret Service or the CIA on a freelance basis."

Elise nodded. This was true. "Or when he decides that spying on me via CCTV isn't his highest priority."

The man sighed.

"Good evening, Mycroft." The younger Holmes boy said. "Try not to start a war before I get home. You know what it does for the traffic."

With that, he grabbed his daughter's hand and headed towards Baker Street.

/

Elise shut the door to her new room with a relieved breath. Today had been quite the ordeal. She had chatted with a serial killer, stared down the shaft of a gun, (Well, it wasn't a real gun but she hadn't known that at the time.) and watched her father play a game of life or death with a now deceased cab driver.

Isn't life grand?

Tomorrow she would have to face going to school. Again, she had no problem with school other than the fact that it's mundaneness drove her towards insanity. While some of her lessons could be intriguing, most were dull compared to her detective work. At least she had her friends.

Elise truly loved her friends.

While she didn't have many, the few that she did have were extremely substantial. They put up with her anxiety and still managed to have fun together. She really was lucky.

As Elise tugged on the last of her pajama bottoms, a knock sounded at her door.

"Come in." she called, picking up a hair tie from her dresser.

Expression free from his face, Sherlock came bounding into the room. He had discarded his coat, but remained in his fitted suit, not yet changed unto his nightclothes. His hands were laced behind his back, clearly holding something.

"What's up?" she questioned curiously.

He didn't answer. Instead, he walked over to her bed, pulling out the object from behind him.

Elise stiffened as she heard the familiar jangling sound.

Her pills. Her anxiety medication.

She heaved a heavy sigh. Her shoulders sagged in defeat.

"How did you find out?"

He placed the bottle on the bed and propped his chin on his hand.

"Your near panic attack earlier this evening." He responded coolly. "While your attacks are spontaneous and are able to happen at any given time, you haven't had one over a dead body at all before now. There was one incident in the early days, but this was before you started taking meds. You're brain doesn't trigger an attack at the sight of a dead woman because you are used to seeing them."

He closed his eyes. "You spent a good amount of your childhood in a morgue surrounded by body parts and corpses. Furthermore, your hands." he pointed to the bandages. "Picking of your fingers has increased significantly over the past two days, signaling a state of distress. In that same forty-eight hour span, not once have you taken your daily dosage of medication. While I don't know why you have made the rather stupid decision not to take your pills as the doctor rightly directed, I'm assuming it has something to do with experimentation on your part. You wanted to see what would happen if you _didn't_ indulge. Am I correct?"

Elise looked at the ground, her cheeks growing redder with each deduction. At times, she thought her dad was brilliant when it came to his skills. The same couldn't be said when he did it to her.

"Yes."

Sherlock's mask fell away, giving into his concerned parental side.

"You know that's not healthy. It could get you into serious harm with your mental state." He tilted her head up to look at him. "Promise me you won't ever experiment with your medication again."

"I won't." Elise said guiltily. "I'm sorry. I got curious and didn't want to feel like I needed them to be normal. I just wanted to do that on my own."

He smiled a bit. "Never be normal. It's dull and tedious."

She grinned blearily as her father gave her a kiss on the forehead.

"Thank you for being honest. I really don't think I could put up with your usual sarcasm at this late hour. From now on, I'll be checking to make sure that you take them." He straightened up and pulled out of their embrace. "Get some sleep. It's already a quarter past midnight and you have to get up early."

She nodded and clambered sleepily into bed, fending off a yawn threatening to escape.

"G' night daddy."

He shut off her light and closed the door.

Elise listened to his retreating footsteps as he ventured into the living room.

She expected him to play his violin, but he didn't. She figured that he opted to spend the night in his mind palace and maybe get some rest a bit later.

As she realized that getting to sleep would be quite the task tonight, her phone was retrieved from the position on her bedside. Tonight, her thoughts would plague her, relentlessly refusing her desire for unconsciousness. When this happened, she would plug her earbuds into her ears, and let music drift her to sleep.

Some nights it would be classical or blues, Maybe a slow pop or old country song. Sometimes she would listen to a recording of Sherlock playing his instrument, which was one of her favorite lullaby. When she was little, he would play for her almost every night when she had trouble sleeping. Today, she decided to listen to go for something a bit more modern

With that decision, Elise opened a playlist and was greeted with one of her most beloved tunes.

Soon, she drifted into a surprisingly easy sleep.

 _/_

 _What a shame, what a shame we all remain_

 _Such fragile broken few_

 _A beauty have the trade, but if was opposed_

 _Should wings still there are darkened glimpses deep in my heart_

 _What once was blazing like now, there's a tiny scar_

 _Oh glory, come and find me_

 _Oh glory, come and find me_

 _Dancing all alone_

 _To the sound of an enemy's song_

 _I'll be lost until you find me_

 _Fighting on my own_

 _In a war that's already been won_

 _I'll be lost until you come and find me here, oh glory_

 _Here_

 _What a mess, what a mystery we've made_

 _Put loving in the simple things_

 _Loving to forgive_

 _Even when it was an odd mistake_

 _I question every human, who won't look in my eyes_

 _Scars left on my heart formed buttons in my mind_

 _Oh glory, you will find me_

 _Dancing all alone_

 _To the sound of an enemy's song_

 _I'll be lost until you find me_

 _Fighting on my own_

 _In a war that's already been won_

 _I'll be lost until you come and find me here, oh glory_

 _Like the moon, we borrow our light_

 _I am nothing but a shadow in the night_

 _So if you let me, I will catch fire_

 _To let your glory and mercy shine_

/

 **A/N: The song at the end is called Part 2 By Paramore. I couldn't resist making her a fan of the band as they are one of my favorites. I would look them up if you don't already listen to them as they make REALLY good music. It helps that Haley Williams' hair is literally perfection :D. I don't belive this was one of my best chapters, but I hope you still liked it.**

 **Thanks to all my reviewers! Please keep it up!**


	6. Cereal,School,and Trip To The Bookstore

**Chapter 6: Cereal, School, and a trip to the bookstore.**

 **A/N: I don't own Sherlock BBC and its affiliates. I am teenage girl who would rather spend time on Tumblr than socializing. I own Elise and her story.**

 **Happy Reading!**

 **-TheCurlyGal6218**

 **/**

Elise rummaged through the kitchen cupboards, looking for her favorite cereal. She was far from what you would call a morning person, always grumbling at her alarm clock when it awoke her. Even with a full nights rest, she was less than tolerable at an early juncture. You could only imagine what she would be like now, running on a measly six hour sleep. Only caffeine and her favorite breakfast would coax her out of her reverie.

Finally locating the sugary morning meal, she pulled it free of the cabinet and sat down at the messy kitchen table. She removed the plastic bag containing the delicious morsels out of the colorful box and began eating the cereal dry.

No sooner than she did, heavy footsteps traipsed downstairs. John bustled sleepily into the kitchen, his blonde hair slightly mussed and his pajamas crumpled. He muttered a greeting and went to fix himself breakfast.

"Sleep well?" he asked conversationally.

Elise shrugged and stuffed another handful of cereal into her mouth.

"I wouldn't call it 'well' but I'll manage. I just need to get some coffee in my system." She covered her mouth while she chewed. "How about you?"

"Not bad. Could do with a few more hours but like you said," He sat down across from her. "I'll manage.

She smiled and yawned loudly. The pair sat in content silence for a few moments.

John blew on his drink to cool it down. "You drink coffee?"

Elise nodded in reply.

He cocked his eyebrow. "How old are you again?'"

"Thirteen," she answered. "I'll be fourteen in a few weeks."

John nodded. He didn't think that someone as young as Elise should be drinking coffee but it wasn't his place to tell her not to. If Sherlock saw no problem then what could he do? Besides, coffee consumption was one of the least worrying things she could be doing.

He brushed it off and instead looked at what she was eating. Dry _Fruit Loops_ cereal _._

Elise noticed him looking and swallowed the crushed up rings.

"I don't like milk." She explained. "I used to when I was younger but my dad ruined it for me."

She wrinkled her nose in disgust.

That sparked his interest. "How?"

"When I was five, our school took a field trip to a dairy farm to see how they milked cows. It was rather fun actually. We got to try it and everything. Well I came home all excited and chattering about it while he was doing something for a case. Long story short, he got annoyed and told me that a liter of milk contains over 200 million somatic cells."

John almost spit out his drink. "Pus?"

Elise nodded in disgust. "After he explained what somatic cells were, I never drank milk again unless I absolutey had to. It really freaked me out."

John snickered. "Sounds like him. From what I've seen anyway."

"Believe me, you have _no_ idea."

Elise and John chatted some more while they ate their breakfast. He told her some stories about his time in Afghanistan and she talked about some of her favorite books. She found his tales fascinating and a bit sad while John marveled at the frizzy haired girl's intelligence. He had never met a child who liked to read so much! Most kids Elise's age couldn't be bothered to read for school much less for recreational purposes. John himself wasn't much of a reader when he was younger. It was nice to see her genuinely invested in literature.

Once they had finished, Elise stood up from the table to take a shower.

"Do you want me to make you a coffee?" he asked.

Elise shook her head no. "That's ok. I'll make one myself once I'm done."

"Alrighty then."

She set off towards her room to retrieve her uniform for school. Thankfully, that was among the things she had unpacked yesterday so she wouldn't have to dig for it today. It was a rather ugly thing. The horrid plaid skirt was far too short on due to her lanky frame and the black blazer didn't even meet her wrists. Sometimes she was glad for her dad's genes making her so tall. She never had trouble reaching high shelves, she was on the top row for picture day, and her long legs were extremely useful when it came to running track in the spring. None of this helped her when it came to dressing for school.

With a resignated sigh, she took her clothes into the bathroom to shower and change.

/

John put his his used mug into the sink to wash later. He had planned to make some breakfast but there was nothing in besides cereal and eggs, neither of which he fancied eating at the moment. As he debated whether or not to make a quick trip to the store, Mrs. Hudson came trotting in with a tray. On the tray sat three plates with servings of sausage, bacon, and pancakes.

"I thought you three might like some brekkie."

John beamed thankfully at her. "Ah, Mrs. Hudson. You are a true gem, ya know that?"

"Remember dearie, I'm not your housekeeper. I just noticed you didn't really have anything in. Cant have you going hungry now can we?"

She set tray down on the table and together, they unloaded the plates and cutlery.

"Has Elise left for school already?" The old woman asked. "I didn't think she went in this early."

John shook his head. "She said she was going to get ready."

"Oh! Has she already eaten?"

"She was eating some cereal earlier."

Mrs. Hudson tutted. "She's such a sweet girl but with the _oddest_ of tastes. I've never seen someone eat cereal dry like that for breakfast. I cant imagine its very filling. Its her father's doing though. Told her some horrible things about it when she was a tot. Can't really blame her I suppose."

John grimaced at the thought. "She was telling me about that." He sat down as they set up the last fork. "Where is Sherlock anyway?"

"I don't know dearie. Last I saw of him he was in the sitting room."

John twisted his mouth. "Well he's not there anymore."

Mrs. Hudson shrugged. " Must've gone out. He's always dashing about like that. Eat."

John nodded and begin to devour his meal. The food was gorgeous, as expected. The landlady proved to be an excellent cook. After months of not eating any homemade meals, it was nice to have someone who would cook for him.

As he was working on his last sausage link, the door downstairs slammed closed.

"That must be him now." The woman muttered. "He really needs to quit slamming my doors."

Footsteps pounded against the stairs, growing louder as the detective approached. The kitchen door swung open and in came Sherlock, a plastic shopping bag in tow.

"What've you got there?" John asked curiously.

"Elise's anxiety medication." He answered briskly. "She only had a few doses left so I picked up her perscription."

John nodded. "What does she take?"

Sherlock dropped the bag on the table and shrugged off his coat. "Prozac."

Mrs. Hudson pointed to Sherlock's plate on the table. "I made breakfast."

"I'm not hungry."

"Sherlock…"

"Mrs. Hudson, I'm perfectly capable of undersanding my body's dietary needs and seeing that they are met. I will eat when I deem it necessary."

The elderly lady sighed. "I suppose I can wrap it up for later. I'll wrap Elise's up too since she ate already."

"Mmm."

Sherlock sauntered into the living room and grabbed his violin. He maunevered the instrument under his chin and readied the bow across the strings. With a drag of the long stick, a melodic tune filtered through the flat.

John was quite impressed with his musical capability. Although he wasn't a big fan of classical music, he thought that the sound of the violin was absoulutely beautiful. The high notes rung through the air, penetrating the ears of anyone nearby. These mixed with the lower ones until they merged in a perfect harmony, builing up into crescendo before richocheting down. Not wanting to disturb him, he quietly walked into the living room and picked up the paper, listening as he read the headlines.

Elise came bustling into the room15 minutes later dressed in her regulated outfit, the white dress shirt untucked. Her curly hair was slightly damp from the shower water. She fiddled with the tie around her neck until it was nice and proper.

"Where did you go, daddy?" she asked. "You werent here when I got up."

He put down his bow a moment. "Chemist."

She rolled her eyes. "I still had a couple days left before I ran out."

"Why run out when you can stock up?" he defended, resuming his session.

"Fine. Christina's mum is taking us to school. She just texted me."

"Mm."

"We're going to the bookstore after school."

"mm."

She sighed in exasperation.

"Dad!"

"What?"

"You could at least pay attention!"

Sherlock's put his violin down again and squirmed in his leather chair.

"Yes! Fine! Be home by 7 o' clock."

She mumbled something under her breath and stomped over to her room. Half an hour later, she emerged fully dressed. Her black curls were pulled into a ponytail, a navy blue headband on her head. She had tucked in her shirt neatly and a black blazer was buttoned at the middle. A blue back pack slung across her shoulders.

She walked over to the table and shook two pills from the small plastic bottle, downing them quickly with a glass of water.

"Alright, I'll see you later." She walked over to her dad and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "Bye Daddy. Bye John!"

She walked over to Gizmo's cage and petted him fondly whilst checking his food and water supply. Satisfied with its contents, her nose nuzzled the animal's pink one. "Bye Gizzy."

With that, she raced out the door and to the awaiting car downstairs.

/

Christina grinned warmly at Elise as she clambered into the backseat.

"Morning Loser." Elise teased cheerily. "Did you already drop your Ben off?"

Christina stuck out her tongue and nodded. "Mom dropped him off first."

Benjamin- or Ben as he was called by family and friends- was Christina's younger brother. He was an ok little boy, a little on the loud side but not terribly obnoxious. Well, not as obnoxious as a 6 year old boy could be.

Elise smiled at Ms. Bentley through the rearview morror. "Good morning Ms. B."

The blonde woman smiled distractedly, not taking her eyes off the road. "Hello Elise. How's the move going?"

"Not bad. We started unpacking yesterday. Our flatmate is nice."

"Well that's good sweetie. Christina, is your cellphone charged? I want you to be able to call me when your at the shop after school."

The blonde teen exchanged a glance with Elise.

"Yes mum. Fully charged."

Both girl's were fully aware how protective Ms. Bentley was of her children. As a single parent who worked almost everyday, you wouldn't expect her too be. Nevertheless, she had had been this way for as long as Elise could remember and showed no signs of ceasing. It was annoying at times, but also kind of sweet. She was glad that Sherlock didn't smother her as much as Christina's mom did.

"I have mine too." Elise added. "No need to worry."

The woman nodded fretfully. "Ok girls. You know how I get. Come straight home when you're through."

"We will."

Christina turned toward Elise. "How did the case go yesterday."

She grimaced at the thought. "I'll tell you at lunch." She discreetly glanced at their sensitive driver.

The blonde teen seemed to get that Elise didn't want to share in front of her mother and skillfully changed the topic.

"So I was planning on picking up this fantasy book-"

/

Elise picked her fingers as Mrs. Clark droaned on about The French Revolution. It was a repeat lecture from last week and nothing that she hadnt heard before. The notes had been copied into her journal along with doodles she had drawn in the margins of the paper. She had seriously considered skipping this class and staking out in the library, but she hated lying to Ms. Jennings. The young librarian had always been kind to Elise and pulled enough strings as it was letting her in whenever she pleased. Besides, she could stop by after lunch anyway.

Elise shared a bored look with her best friend across the room. Christina had her head propped against her hand and squinted disparagingly at her desk. Her blonde hair fell in front of her face, making her lazy expression seem even more comical. Elise stifled a giggle and turned back around.

Mrs. Clark finally ended her speech, much to the joy of the students. If she had continued for even another minute, there was a 99% chance someone wouldve fallen asleep.

"Read Chapter 13 section B for homework tonight. You will have a quiz over it tommorow.-"

The bell rang, successfully cutting her off. Students began standing up to leave for their next class but the History teacher interupted their efforts.

"The bell doesn't dismiss you. I do."

A collective groan rang throughout the group of adolescents. _What was the point of bells if they didn't dismiss them? Ridiculous. Then they complain when we are late!_

"Now you may go."

Chairs scraped against the dusty tile as kids bolted for the hallway. Elise strode quickly out of her second period and made her way to the science building. As much as she loved the subject, Christina didn't have it with her so it wasn't as fun as it couldve been. Nevertheless, she tried her best to make the most of it with the people she did know.

Elise felt like she was being watched as she walked down the cluttered hallway. Even with the knowledge that no one was, it didn't help the growing knot in her gut. The same knot that tightened when she felt anxious, the one that she despised with every fibre of her being. That was the trouble with her disorder, no matter how brave you think you are, it never truly goes away. Perhaps it will hibernate for a while, give you peace for an hour or two. Then you go to a place like school and it all comes back. Ignoring it, she continued walking towards her next class, eyes trained firmly on the books in her hands. she didn't think that making eye contact with her fellow students would help by _any_ means.

She entered the Science room and took her seat, opening her notebook to do her warm up.

As she begin to answer the question, someone sat down beside her.

"Hey hot stuff."

Elise put down her pen and raised an eyebrow at the boy beside her.

"Seriously Leo?" she said tiredly.

The dark skinned boy grinned bashfully at her. "Did it work?"

Elise scoffed and shook her head. "Nope. The day that works on me is the day that my hair goes permanately straight."

He shrugged. "Worth a try. Have you talked to blondie?"

"By blondie do you mean Christina?"

"Who else?"

"Well yeah. Her mom dropped me off this morning. Why?"

"Just asking." He scratched the back of his neck nervously.

She looked at him suspiciously but said no more. She knew he was hiding something from her but didn't know what. Even though she had only met him at the start of the term, he had become a fairly decent friend of hers. It was only natural for her curiousity to be peaked when he was being secretive. Time for deductions.

Out of the corner of her eye, she raked over Leo's body in search of clues.

 _Shirt untucked and jacket unbuttoned. He was in a rush this morning and never fixed his clothes properly before heading out. Slight crust around lips suggests he snuck food in his last class since he didn't have time for breakfast…_

She frowned when she didn't find anything else. Well, nothing that would tell her what he was hiding. The fatigue mustve been really getting to her if she couldn't make simple deductions. All we would be well in time.

And sleep. Sleep was good too.

/

"So you had a gun pointed right at you."

Elise and Christina sat at one of the small tables near the Young Adult section, sipping their decaf in the fairly vacant bookstore. The curly haired teen had already found a few books that she was considering buying while the latter was dead set on buying the one she already found. It was supposed to be fairly good, better than most of the romance garb Christina ate up.

"Not a real gun. I thought it was at first but my dad figured out it was fake."

"He's good."

"No kidding."

She took a swig of her coffee and tossed her hair over her shoulder. "Were you scared?"

"Oh no. A homicidal nutter with a fake gun trying to kill us didn't frighten me at all. In fact, I was the epitome of zen."

Christina rolled her eyes and flipped through the novel in her hands. "Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit."

Elise smirked. "You sound like Mycroft ."

The other girl widened her eyes comically. "Why that was low Holmes. You just compared me to your uncle. He's bloody scary!"

"Oh, he's not that bad." She defended casually.

"Not that bad? He's like a snake."

Elise giggled. "A fat snake."

They laughed and read their books in content silence, taking breaks to sip from their warm beverages. Through the large windows on their left, the sun had begun to set. The people of London traversed the concrete streets, most commuting home or to the pub. Some highschool kids loitered in the park with skateboards.

Christina checked her phone. Then she pushed her chair out from the table.

"I've got to go. My mom wants me home for dinner."

Elise stood to. "I'm going to stay a bit longer. Dad said I didn't have to be home till seven and it's only six o'clock."

"Ok." She walked over and gave her taller friend a hug. "Text me when you get home so I know you havent been murdered."

"You do the same."

"Bye loser." The blonde girl teased before walking away.

Elise shook her head though she was smiling.

Since she herself didn't have to be home till seven, she decided to browse a bit longer before she made her final purchases. Even though she had already chosen three to buy, there were still more to look at. If she didn't add another one to her stack then she could always get it another time. Her fingers skimed the spines of each book in turn as she passed. She picked up one with an intriguing cover and opened it to read the synopsis.

" _Despite the tumor-shrinking medical miracle that has bought her a few years, Hazel has never been anything but -terminal, her final chapter inscribed upon diagnosis. But when a gorgeous plot twist named Augu-"_

She sighed and put the book down. It sounded like a depressing cancer love story. Not what she was looking for. She put the book downand turned on her heel to checkout.

 _Wham!_

The stack of books in her hand colapsed to the ground. Thankfully, she herself didn't lose footing and only stumbled. She looked up to see what had caused her trouble. Well it wasn't a what, but a _who._

"Really Leo." Elise blustered angrily, cheeks rising in color.

The boy who had bumped into her looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

"Well that's ironic."

 _I swear I'm going to kill him._

"What are you doing here Leo?"

Elise bent down to pick up her books. The books that this rude specimen had made her drop.

He picked up the book that Elise had put back. His stubby fingers tracing over the title thoughtfully. His mouth twisted into something alin of a smirk as he looked at the dark haired girl who was rapidly losing her patience.

"The Fault in our Stars. Augustus and Hazel met the same way."

"How is this of any relevance too me? We go to school together you twit." she sighed.

He smoothely put the book back and patted her on the head.

"Find out. Read the book."

"Why are you here?" she swatted away his arm.

"Cant a guy enjoy some fine literature?"

She cocked an eyebrow at him disbelivingly.

He sighed and finally caved. "I wanted to see you."

"Why? You just saw me earli-"

He walked right up to her and gave her a bone crushing hug. All she could do was stand there in shock. Finally, he pulled away and grimaced at the floor.

"Have fun."

Before she could make another comment, he had walked away. Elise stood there, dumfounded. The remains of her choices littered on the carpet. She had no idea what to do with herself. This was all too weird.

After she had cleaned up the mess and composed herself, she gingerly grabbed the novel out of curiousity.

What the hell was going on today?

/

Sherlock was curled up in his armchair when she returned home. He held his violin in one hand, absentmindedly plucking the strings with the other. John sat in the chair opposite him, eyes fixed on the telly program. The veteran looked worn, expected after a day with her father.

"Hey daddy." She greeted. "Did you go to the Yard today?"

"Yes."

"How did it go?"

He sighed. "It wasn't terribly dull."

"Mm. Hello John."

The blonde man looked away from the screen to smile at the young girl.

"Hi Elise." He straightened up in his chair. "Good day at school?"

"It was ok." She said with a shrug. "I got to go to the bookstore after. Got four new ones to read."

He nodded and turned back to his program. "Well that's nice. I noticed how much you like them."

"Yep."

She walked over to the guinea pig cage and smiled at the furry pet. He came out of his igloo immediately, sensing his owner's prescence. Gizmo waddled up to Elise and nuzzled his nose against her hand, a sign that he craved attention.

"I'll be right back." She unhooked the water bottle on his cage so that it could be cleaned and refilled. Then, she took out his blue food bowl to restock the pellets and vegetables. After a quick trip to the kitchen, both his food and wtaer had been replenished and the black and white cavy munched happily on a cucumber wedge.

John and Sherlock still longued in the Living room. Mrs. Hudson was probably in her flat downstairs. Elise cooed over her small, black and white pet.

All was well in 221 Baker Street.

For now.

/

 **A/N: Oh you readers are going to absolutely hate me. You'll find out why soon enough.**

 **Thanks for reading! Please review!**


	7. Text Wars

**Chapter 7: Text wars**

 **A/N: To be honest, this is just a filler chapter so I can get ahead with The Blind Banker arc and not have late updates. With that being said, I hope you like it** **just an idea I had.**

 **TheCurlyGal6218**

… **.**

 _1 new message from contact: JOHN_

 _Where are you? - JW_

 _I went to Christina's house so we could study. Why? – EH_

 _Your father is driving me mad. – JW_

 _He won't stop pacing and mumbling. – JW_

 _He's throwing china. – JW_

 _Hello? – JW_

 _Elise? – JW_

 _Sorry John. Got a bit distracted. Why's he throwing china? – EH_

 _I don't know! – JW_

 _Alright. I really have to study John. I'm sorry but you'll have to ride this one out. – EH_

 _He's threatening to experiment on the Guinea pig. – JW_

 _WHAT?!- EH_

 _Give me a minute. – EH_

 _Tell him if he so much as plucks a hair from Gizmo's head I'll poison his tea. –EH_

 _Message sent to contact: Daddy_

 _John tells me you're breaking things. Why? – EH_

 _DON'T TOUCH GIZMO OR I'LL TELL LESTRADE THAT YOU WITHELD EVIDENCE.- EH_

 _It won't be a lie either since you do withhold evidence. – EH_

 _He would cut you off from cases for a week. – EH_

 _Or maybe I'll call Uncle Mycroft and tell him we should have dinner. – EH_

 _By 'we' I mean all of us. John, Mycroft, Me, you, and Grandma and Grandpa – EH_

 _Wouldn't you just LOVE that? – EH_

 _You're bluffing. – SH_

 _Not this time daddy- yo. I'm dead serious. – EH_

 _Stop breaking our dishes and unhand my pet. I have to study. – EH_

 _Fine. You may stay at your stupid friend's residence for another half hour and then you are coming home.-SH_

 _I bargain an hour –EH_

 _No. – SH_

 _Please? – EH_

 _No. – SH_

 _Ugh. - SH_

 _Also, don't beg. It's unbecoming. – SH_

 _Whatever you say dad. I'll be home soon. Don't be mean to John xx – EH_

 _I'm not mean to John. – SH_

 _I meant don't cause a big fuss. –EH_

 _And by the way, my friend isn't stupid and her name is Christina. – EH_

 _Who? – SH_

 _I've known her since primary school! – EH_

 _Oh right. The blonde one with divorced parents. – SH_

 _DAD! – EH_

 _Oh calm your nerves. I was only kidding. – SH_

 _You don't kid –EH_

 _You're right. I don't. Come home now. – SH_

 _Mrs. Hudson made biscuits. – SH_

… _._

 **A/N: Alright. A regular chapter will be posted in four days (per usual.) Put this story on alerts if you want to know when that is.**

 **Don't forget to review! They're really motivating!**


	8. The Blind Banker pt1

**Chapter 8: The Blind Banker Part 1**

 **A/N: I'm a day late but this is fairly long so I suppose that makes up for it.**

… **.**

Elise stared at the ceiling from her position under the sheets. She had woken up a long time ago, but was reluctant to leave the embrace of her bed; a safe haven. After five days slaving away at school, the 48 hour grace period that was Saturday and Sunday easily became her favorite part of the week. These two precious days were a break from the chaotic nature of secondary school. Even if her life outside of the academy was actually one hundred times crazier, it was _her_ kind of crazy. The _good_ kind of crazy. If that makes any sense.

But even surrounded by the kind of 'crazy' that she preferred, Elise relished an opportunity to have some peace and quiet. That's what she did now. Lord knows when or if she would get another morning like it.

It didn't last long though.

She turned away from the white wall when she heard rustling coming from the kitchen. Not the normal rustling you got on sleepy Saturday mornings but a suspicious kind. The kind that sent a chill down your spine and a heart beating faster.

Elise carefully unwound herself from a cocoon of blue blankets and placed a cotton clad foot on the wooden floor. She perched on the edge of her bed, listening as she quickly grabbed her phone.

 _Two voices. Both male. One is clearly dad while the other is… unknown. Possibly a client but a normal client wouldn't invoke that suspicious sound I heard earlier. An intruder then…_

Without another thought, she sprung from her bed and practically dashed for the exit. Logic told her that running straight towards the origin of the disturbance may not be the best in this situation, but she _had_ to make sure her father was ok. If the circumstances were as dire as she predicted and he was indeed in trouble, the teen couldn't be expected not to at least attempt to aid him.

However, this didn't seem necessary upon arrival. Sherlock was clearly able to handle himself. An exotically dressed man lay face down on the floor, unconscious, the many robes and sashes adorning his body crumpled in a messily around him. A silver sword lay haphazardly off to the side. Her father himself stood over the body, his face tinged with flush. He seemed otherwise unharmed.

Elise shook her head at the sight. There really wasn't a dull moment _. Ever._

"Well someone's been busy." she rocked back and forth on her heels. "Have fun?"

He rolled his eyes and plopped ungracefully into his chair. "I see you're awake."

She shrugged and sat down on the couch, already picking at her fingers. She had removed the bandages a few days ago. "Have been for a while now. Didn't feel like getting up. The only reason I did was because I thought you were in trouble." She paused. "Were you in trouble?"

"Of a sort, yes. Not anymore."

"I see." She jerked her head to the body in the middle of their living room. "Do I need to call Lestrade?"

"No." Sherlock curled his lip when he gave a glance to the oblivious figure.

She nodded. "Um…Ok. Where's John?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and propped his fingers beneath his chin. "He went grocery shopping."

"Mm."

Elise found herself staring at the limp form of the mysterious man as she absentmindedly picked at her hands. She was still ignorant to who he was and why he was in 221b. Despite the thoughts racing around her head, she said nothing. Or at least she tried to say nothing. Elise wasn't really the type to hold back what she really thought, unless she had reason to.

Sensing that his daughter had questions, he beat her to the punch.

"Any questions you have are probably not of use as this case is already closed from our end."

He leaned forward in his chair. "This is my message to them."

Now it was Elise's turn to roll her eyes. Couldn't he just give her a straight answer?

"Wow, just as vague and ominous as ever." She stood from the couch and stepped gingerly over the collapsed man. "I'm going to go get dressed. I hope he's gone by the time I get back."

"Believe me." Sherlock said casually. "He will be."

Elise crossed the flat and walked into the direction of her quarters. She didn't have any desire to remain in such proximity to the intruder. As much as she liked to act brave, there were certain things that she didn't want to face before noon. She didn't particularly enjoy a gnawing sensation in her stomach.

The teenager rummaged through her closet and produced a pair of jeans and a blue and black striped sweater. As her hair was being bothersome, she applied a generous amount of product to keep the frizz prone curls intact before stuffing them into a messy ponytail. A few bobby pins were used to clip back some of the more stubborn tendrils. Finished.

She took a moment to admire her handiwork in the long mirror near her dresser. Satisfied, she walked over to her disheveled bed and began to make it up. The blue sheets were pulled taut against the corners and the duvet was placed over it. She carelessly tossed the pillows on the blanket, not to particular about the way they were placed.

Elise sighed and left the room once she was through, ignoring her inner protestations.

Thankfully, her father had been true to his word. Within the 15 minutes that she had used to get dressed, he somehow managed to get rid of him and dispel any evidence that he was there in the first place. Well, except for a sword under his chair.

"Dad, there's a-."

John suddenly burst through the door, an irritated expression upon his face. Elise noticed that there was no sign of the groceries he had set off to get.

"You took your time. " Sherlock said, not looking up from the book in his hands.

John let out a deep exhale. "Yeah, I didn't get the shopping."

"Clearly," Elise mumbled.

"What? Why not?" Sherlock questioned.

"Because I had a row, in the shop, with a chip-and-PIN machine."

"You ... you had a row with a machine?"

Elise raised her eyebrow in amusement. "John, are you feeling ok? I think you may have come down with something."

He glared at the younger Holmes. "You're sarcastic wit never ceases to amaze me." To Sherlock, "Sort of. It sat there and I shouted abuse. Have you got cash?

The curly haired detective fought a smile and nodded to the kitchen table. "Take my card."

John walked towards the kitchen where Sherlock's wallet was lying on the table.

"You could always go yourself, you know. You've been sitting there all morning. You've not even moved since I left."

Elise grinned knowingly at her father.

"And what happened about that case you were offered – the Jaria Diamond?"

"Yeah what _did_ happen daddy?" she said innocently. "I'm ever so curious to know." She jerked her head towards the floor where the discarded sword lay. John absolutely _could not_ see that.

"Not interested."

He bookmarked his page and took his daughter's cue, scooting the weapon under his chair and thus out of sight. Success.

"I sent them a message."

…..

Elise downed her daily dosage of anxiety medication under her father's watchful eye. The pills slid down her throat almost painfully, not making the experience any more enjoyable. She slammed the cup of water she had used down on the counter and gave him a fake smile.

"There. I took them. Happy?"

He nodded curtly as he tapped on John's laptop. John himself had gone back to the store since he had failed to pick up the shopping the first time. Hopefully no registers would give him trouble again. The flat's food stock was running dangerously low.

As if on cue, the front door slammed closed. John Watson came bumbling up the stairs, plastic bags in tow.

Later, John staggers up the stairs carrying several bags of shopping.

"Don't worry about me." He groaned sarcastically. "I can manage."

Elise stood up with a sigh. "I'll help you."

"Thanks." He handed her one of the bags and together they set the heavy load down to unpack it.

John handed Elise a can of vegetable soup. Elise took it and walked to put it in the cupboard. Sherlock sat at the dining room table, engrossed in what he was reading on the borrowed laptop. The owner of that laptop took notice of this and abruptly put down the produce in his hand.

"Is that my computer?"

Sherlock started to type. "Of course."

"What?!"

The so called genius didn't seem to see the problem and continued to type away. "Mine was in the bedroom."

The Blonde doctor looked at him with harsh incredulity. If looks could kill, her dad would most certainly be slaughtered.

"What, and you couldn't be bothered to get up?"

No answer.

"For someone who criticizes their brother in his distaste for physical exertion, you are unfathomably lazy at times daddy."

"Its password protected!" John cried indignantly.

Sherlock ignored the pair's comments and continued typing. "In a manner of speaking. Took me less than a minute to guess yours." He glanced up at John. "Not exactly Fort Knox."

"Right, thank you." John strode over to Sherlock, slammed the lid closed, and whisked the laptop away. He collapsed into his chair and picked up a stack of letters.

"Oh."

Elise watched as he flicked through the papers, she herself settling down with a book on the couch.

"Need to get a job."

"Oh, dull." Sherlock scoffed.

John set the letter down. He looked as if he wanted to say something but hesitated. Finally seeming to gather the courage, he spoke. "Listen, um ... if you'd be able to lend me some..."

He trailed off when Sherlock didn't appear to be paying attention.

"Sherlock, are you listening?"

"Dad, John's trying to talk to you." Elise said without looking up from her novel.

Still placid staring.

"I need to go to the bank."

He sprung to a standing position and headed towards the stairs, taking his coat from the hook on the door as he went. John frowned but jumped up and followed him nonetheless.

Elise sighed and put down her book.

"Guess that means me too."

…..

Later, the group of three strolled in through the glass doors of Shad Sanderson Bank. Elise and John marveled at the large foyer, their eyes bulging and mouths agape. The spacious building was made primarily of glass, employees and customers milling around the ground. Two long escalators lead to the higher floors. Sherlock, Elise, and John stepped onto the moving stairs.

"This place is huge." Elise breathed.

Her eyes scanned the expanse of the establishment, drinking in ever last detail. It was a wonder that she wasn't drooling at the sheer size of the bank. The only place that Elise could picture being bigger was Mycroft's office. If that didn't make a statement then nothing would.

They reached the top of the escalator and her father led the way to the reception desk. He gave the receptionist his name and she tapped the information into her computer. After she cleared them for further entrance, they were lead to a gigantic office with a man inside. He wore a suit that screamed professionalism while his demeanor said average bloke. His face was an unflattering round shape made even worse by his rather awful haircut and irritating smile. As they entered the room, his eyes came alight with recognition.

"Sherlock Holmes." He said in greeting.

"Sebastian." Her dad replied civilly.

They shook hands, Sebastian clasping Sherlock's hand in both of his.

"Howdy, buddy. How long's it been? Eight years since I last clapped eyes on you?"

Sherlock looked back at him with only marginally concealed hatred. Sebastian turned to look at the other two guests.

"This is my friend, John Watson. I take it you remember my daughter."

Elise racked her brain for any memories of Sebastian. None came to mind. That was understandable though. She had only been five their last meeting.

"Friend?" Sebastian said with visible surprise.

"Colleague." John corrected.

"Right."

They shook hands too, Sebastian looking at John curiously. Then he zeroed in on the youngest of the three.

"Right. Nice to see you again, Elise. You've gotten big since the last time I saw you!"

Elise tried as hard as she could to be polite but she found it really hard to like the man before her. Judging by the look on John's face, he hadn't made a good impression on him either.

"Hi." She said with a forced smile, taking the offered hand.

"How old are you now?" he asked. "You look tall enough to be sixteen! Must take after your dad."

"I'm thirteen."

He nodded.

"Well, grab a pew. D'you need anything? Coffee, water?"

Sherlock shook his head.

"No." the blonde man said.

"I'm fine." Elise replied.

"No?" Sebastian clarified. When no further commentary was made, he waved off the waiting secretary. "We're all sorted here, thanks."

The secretary left the room. The adults sat in the available chairs, Elise perching on the arm of Sherlock's.

"So, you're doing well." The consulting detective began. "You've been abroad a lot."

"Well, some."

"Flying all the way round the world twice in a month?"

Sebastian pointed at Sherlock and laughed awkwardly.

"Right. You're doing that thing."

He looked to a confused John.

"We were at uni together. This guy here had a trick he used to do."

"It's not a trick." Sherlock said quietly.

Sebastian ignored him, plowing on. "He could look at you and tell you your whole life story.'

John nodded his head in understanding. "Yes, I've seen him do it."

"Put the wind up everybody. We hated him."

Elise's patience was quickly declining.

"Go on, enlighten me. Two trips a month, flying all the way around the world – you're quite right. How could you tell?'

Sherlock opened his mouth to explain but his former classmate beat him to it.

"You're going to tell me there was, um, a stain on my tie from some special kind of ketchup you can only buy in Manhattan."

Several swear words and biting remarks were threatening to escape. Elise picked at her fingers to attempt to calm down. A knot formed in the pit of her stomach.

"No, I ..."

"Maybe it was the mud on my shoes!" Sebastian cried.

The detective looked at him intensely.

"I was just chatting with your secretary outside. She told me."

The silence was deafening.

The teen had to say something. "Bet that wasn't one of your _brilliant_ explanations now was it?"

His eyes flickered over to Elise's hands. She looked down, curious as to what could possibly be so distracting. Then she realized; the picking. Always the picking. She cleared her throat and clasped her hands together. The last thing she needed was to accidently draw blood in the company of this insufferable git. Besides, she was supposed to be trying to break the habit.

"I'm glad you could make it over. We've had a break-in."

…

Sebastian led the group out of his office and towards the hall.

"Sir William's office – the bank's former Chairman. The room's been left here like a sort of memorial. Someone broke in late last night."

"What did they steal?" John asked

"Nothing. Just left a little message."

Elise's brow furrowed. "A message? What sort of message?"

Who broke into a bank just to leave a message? It didn't make any sense.

"You'll see mini-Holmes."

Elise opened her mouth to rebuke but John gave her a faint shake of the head. She pursed her lips and imagined pushing Mr. Wilkes down the escalator. May seem a bit extreme but he had insulted her family and called her by a despicable nickname. She didn't need nor want this from Sebastian. Sally and Anderson had already filled the position of 'annoying idiots.'

Sebastian waved a security card against the reader by the door to unlock it. Inside, an enormous portrait of a man in a suit hung on a white wall behind a wide desk- presumably the late Sir William Shad himself. On the wall to the left of the portrait, someone has sprayed what looks like a graffiti 'tag' in yellow paint.

 _This probably was the message that git was talking about._

The tag looks vaguely like a number 8 but with the top of the number left open, and above it is an almost horizontal straight line. Across the eyes of the portrait itself, another almost horizontal straight line has been sprayed. The artist- if you could even call him that- had done quite a messy job as the paint trailed slightly of the painting and to the hard surface behind.

Sebastian led the way towards the desk and then stepped aside to allow Sherlock a clear view of the wall. John moved to stand on the other side of Sebastian, who looked at Sherlock expectantly while the detective stares in fixed concentration at the graffiti. Elise followed, opting to stand beside John rather than Sebastian.

Once Sherlock seemed to be done, they were brought back to Mr. Wilkes' office.

He flicked between security footage of the photograph between the times of 23:34:01 and 23:33:01. Not once in this minute had any change been made. The frame remained intact along with canvas portrait itself. There were no shadows or silhouettes of the proclaimed suspect. Just the picture and a time slot that made for a nearly impossible escape.

"So," Sebastian began. "Someone came up here in the middle of the night, splashed paint around, and then left within a minute."

"Impossible." Elise shook her head. "There's no way-"

"How many ways into that office?" Sherlock interrupted.

Sebastian shifted in his chair uncomfortably.

"Well, that's where this gets really interesting."

…

Back in the reception area, Sebastian showed them a screen on a computer which has a layout of the trading floor and its surrounding offices. Each indicated door has a light against it showing its security status.

"Every door that opens in this bank, it gets logged right here. Every walk-in cupboard, every toilet."

Wilkes nodded in reply.

"There's a hole in our security. Find it and we'll pay you – five figures."

He reaches into the breast pocket of his jacket and took out a slip of paper. A check.

"This is an advance. Tell me how he got in, there's a bigger one on its way."

"I don't need an incentive, Sebastian."

He walks away. John watched him go, then turns to Sebastian.

"He's, uh, he's kidding you, obviously."

Elise cleared her throat. "Well. He's not lying when he says he doesn't _need_ an incentive but….." she rubbed her fingers together suggestively. "I'm sure he wouldn't be opposed to one."

John held out his hand. "Sh-shall I look after that for him?"

Sebastian gave John the check.

"Thanks."

He and Elise quickly sped away, giggling as they did. John flashed her the numbers on the slip of paper.

"I can't believe this is only an advance! That is a _lot_ of digits!"

Elise grinned cheekily. "A good case and some extra cash. Today is looking up Watson."

…..

Elise watched as her father weaved throughout the clusters of grey cubicles. He popped upright, staring in concentration at the glass doorway to Sir William's office. Then he ducked sideways and hurried across the floor. This bemused both her and the office workers who had no choice to watch. Nevertheless, Sherlock continued to scamper around the floor, frequently scurrying sideways and ducking down behind desks before popping up again and peering at the doorway. He danced across the floor again and twirls around a column, knocking it over before backing towards an office on the other side of the floor. He abruptly halted in that doorway, his eyes still fixed on Sir William's office, then turned and went into the office and headed to the other side of the desk. Elise turned away, giving up all hope of figuring out the motive behind his unusual actions.

She wandered off towards John who was tattering away on his phone. He looked up as she came to stand next to him.

"Tired?" he asked.

She nodded. "Very. I woke up early."

John frowned in bemusement. "I didn't see you when I left for the store. Well, the first time."

"I was hiding in my room."

"Why?"

Elise shrugged. "Didn't feel like getting up."

John shook his head incredulously. "You sound like your Dad."

Elise narrowed her eyes. "I do not."

"Yeah. You do."

"No. I don't!"

"We could argue about this. Or you could just accept it as the fact that it is."

"You wound me John Watson."

He laughed and continued to tap his device. "You're impossible."

"Highly likely." She said cheekily.

Not long afterwards, Sherlock led them back towards the escalators. They were done at Shad Sanderson Bank for the mean time. It was on to the next exciting thing.

"Two trips around the world this month." John said. "You didn't ask his secretary; you said that just to irritate him."

Sherlock smiled but didn't respond.

"How did you know?"

Sherlock nodded towards his daughter. "Did you notice his watch?"

Elise shook her head. "No. I was too busy imagining throwing him down the escalator. Why?"

Sherlock wasn't fazed. "The time was right but the date was wrong. Said two days ago. Crossed the dateline twice but he didn't alter it."

"Ah."

"Within a month? How'd you get that part?" John asked.

"New Breitling. Only came out this February."

"Okay. So d'you think we should sniff around here for a bit longer?"

"Got everything I need to know already, thanks."

"Did you take pictures?" Elise asked.

"Of course I did." He snapped. "Only an idiot wouldn't."

Elise rolled her eyes. "Yes, right. Even more proof that you don't fall into that category. May I see?"

Sherlock handed her his phone distractedly. She scrolled through the photos he had taken, looking for clues. Sadly, she was no graffiti expert and had nothing to offer. She wordlessly handed the cell back to her dad who pocketed it.

"That graffiti was a message for someone at the bank working on the trading floors. We find the intended recipient and..."

He deliberately trailed off, allowing John to finish the sentence.

"...they'll lead us to the person who sent it."

"Obvious."

"For you." Elise mumbled.

"Well, there's three hundred people up there. Who was it meant for?" John questioned

"Pillars."

"What?"

"Pillars and the screens. Very few places you can see that graffiti from. That narrows the field considerably. And of course the message was left at eleven thirty-four last night. That tells us a lot."

They pushed through the glass revolving doors and exited the building. The early London afternoon was seasonably cold and windy, blowing a few strands from Elise's ponytail. Whatever efforts she had made to make her hair presentable had been officially wasted.

"Traders come to work at all hours. Some trade with Hong Kong in the middle of the night. That message was intended for someone who came in at midnight."

He held up a name card to show them.

"Not many Van Coons in the phonebook." He held up his hand at a passing cab.

"Taxi!"

….

After the taxi ride, the trio came up to a block of flats. Sherlock pressed the door buzzer marked 'Van Coon'. Releasing it, he looked into the security camera above the buzzers, waited a couple of seconds, and then pressed the buzzer again.

Nothing.

"No one's home." Elise sighed. "Great. That complicates things."

"So what do we do now? Sit here and wait for him to come back?" john asked irritably.

Sherlock ignored his companion's moaning and looked at the number of buzzers on the wall. Then he took a step back and looked at the front of the building. After a beat, he addressed the awaiting teen and adult.

"Just moved in."

"What?"

Elise caught on quickly. "You checked the layout."

Sherlock nodded. "Precisely. The floor above. New label."

He pointed to another buzzer with a handwritten label. Evidence.

"Could have just replaced it." John said pointedly.

Sherlock pressed the buzzer, then looked at John again.

"No-one ever does that."

Elise added. "Probably too lazy."

A woman's voice crackled over the intercom.

"Hello?"

Sherlock pasted on a smile so convincing that it would've fooled anyone who didn't know him personally.

"'Hi! Um, I live in the flat just below you. I-I don't think we've met."

"No," the woman said cautiously. "Well, uh, I've just moved in."

Sherlock turned to throw a brief 'told you so' glance at the pair before turning back to the camera.

"Actually, I've just locked my keys in my flat."

He grimaced and bit his lip plaintively

Elise nudged John. He looked at her.

"His acting skills are scary." She whispered.

John chuckled. "I'll say."

"D'you want me to buzz you in?" Ms. Wintle asked

"Yeah. And can I use your balcony?"

"What?"

…..

 **A/N: Review? *Hugs laptop* Thanks! I didn't proofread this very thoroughly so don't hesitate to point out any mistakes. It makes for better writing in the future.**


	9. The Blind Baker pt2

**Chapter 9: The Blind Banker pt2**

 **A/N: Meep.**

… **.**

Not long afterwards, Sherlock has flirted his way into the lucky Ms. Wintle's flat and balcony. John and Elise were left to stand idle on the pavement below. The two stood quiet for a few minutes. Neither of them were one for small talk and they were both pretty distracted with their own thoughts to care much for what the other had on their mind. The cold wind whistled past, successfully chilling Elise's ears. In that moment, she resented her choice of attire. A thin sweater and jeans weren't exactly cold weather friendly.

John grew impatient after a long couple of minutes. "Sherlock. Sherlock, are you okay?"

There was no answer.

 _He has to be inside already. There's no way he's not after all this time._

"Dad?" She tried experimentally. "Dad?"

John sighed, clearly exasperated. "Yeah, any time you feel like letting us in."

Elise shivered as another breeze blew past. "It's cold." She muttered ruefully. The teen slid her hands across her ears to generate heat. The relief, while small, was instantaneous. She blew out a relieved breath, creating a small fog cloud as she did.

The blonde doctor sat down on the stoop, tired of standing around in wait of his tall flat mate. Elise copied him, absently picking her nails. Seconds ticked past. They felt like hours. Minutes felt like _days_.

Elise deliberated whether or not she should break down the door and go in there herself. There many flaws in this plan though. First of all; she was quite small. An attempt to budge the door would result in a bruised shoulder and wasted energy, not to mention the fact that it was pretty stupid when she could just buzz Ms. Wintle again. Secondly; she was a bit scared to even go inside. God knows what lurked in Van Coon's apartment.

Just as she was trying to think of another course of action- Sherlock had been in there for a good ten minutes now- the door opened. Out came the curly haired detective himself.

John and Elise scrambled to their feet, eagerly awaiting the news.

Sherlock's face remained frighteningly passive as he spoke the next chilling words.

"It appears as if Mr. Van Coon is dead."

….

The flat was quite large. An elegantly decorated living room glittered with expensive white leather furniture and glossy black end tables, a testament to Van Coons wealth. The amount of clutter was so sparse that even Ms. Hudson would feel shameful at her housekeeping methods. The stack of books on the table didn't go unnoticed by the literature savvy teen. She would've been tempted to browse them had the situation been different. Alas, rifling through the book collection of a recently deceased rich guy wouldn't be the best route to go on. Besides, anything in this flat could now be considered evidence.

 _Best not get in trouble with the yarders._

The police had been called. Photographers took pictures of Van Coon's body lying on the bed. A forensics officer dusted for fingerprints on the nearby mirror. Elise could hear the distant chatter of officers elsewhere in the flat. Sherlock and John had vacated to the bedroom where the dead man lay. She decided that joining them wouldn't be the best idea. Just standing at the site of the incident was making her a bit queasy. Sticking to the living room would hopefully keep her from spilling the contents of her breakfast on the plush carpet.

It made her feel stupid. Weak. Inferior.

Elise was the same person who practically grew up in a morgue. Yet, ever since the serial 'suicides', she had been feeling strange. Scared even.

 _Too confusing. Keep calm breath deep. Just go in there. You don't even have to look at it too hard._

Elise willed her feet to move in the direction of the bedroom. If she was going to be a detective one day, she couldn't turn green at the sight of a dead body. It was in the job description.

"D'you think he'd lost a lot of money?" John was saying. "I mean, suicide is pretty common among City boys."

"We don't know that it was suicide."

"Come on. The door was locked from the inside; you had to climb down the balcony."

Sherlock squatted down by a suitcase on the floor near the bed and opened the lid. His eyes skimmed over the contents.

"He could've already been inside the flat." Elise offered, announcing her presence.

"Been away three days, judging by the laundry." He glanced at his daughter quickly. "You might be right." To John. "Look at the case. There was something tightly packed inside it."

"Thanks – I'll take your word for it."

"Problem?" Sherlock questioned.

"Yeah, I'm not desperate to root around some bloke's dirty underwear."

Elise snickered. "There's no telling where those things have been."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Van Coon was as far from a slob as you could get. In the literal sense at least." He walked to the foot of the bed, staring at the corpse. "Those symbols at the bank – the graffiti. Why were they put there?"

"Some kind of code?" John asked.

"Obviously."

"And you don't know what it says." Elise stated.

Having looked closely at Van Coon's legs – or possibly his shoes – he moved up and carefully opened the man's jacket to look at his inside pockets.

"Why were they painted? If you want to communicate, why not use e-mail?"

"Well, maybe he wasn't answering."

"Oh good. You follow."

John frowned. "No."

Sherlock shot him a look

"What kind of a message would everyone try to avoid?"

His frown deepened.

"What about this morning?" The detective asked. "– those letters you were looking at?"

"Bills."

Sherlock gently pried open Van Coon's mouth and pulls out a small black origami flower from inside. Air hisses out from the dead man's lungs. Elise tensed and looked away, willing herself to remain calm. The sight, while not particularly gory, wasn't pleasant.

"Yes. He was being threatened."

 _By who?_

A man's voice filtered through the open door. "Bag this up will you?"

Her father retrieved a clear evidence bag. Then, he daintily picked the lotus up and slid it inside.

"... and see if you can get prints off this glass."

The flower was beautiful. Sharp angles of black origami paper formed the petals, swirling in a unique pattern across the leaves. It was small in size. This didn't detract from its eerie gorgeousness.

A young officer in plain dress sauntered into the room. He was younger than Sherlock by a couple years if his appearance anything to go on and his mouth was set in a firm line, unsmiling. His expression reminded her of her uncle, always so serious.

"Ah, Sergeant. We haven't met." Sherlock introduced.

He offered his hand to shake. The young man puts his hands on his hips.

"Yeah, I know who you are; and I'd prefer it if you didn't tamper with any of the evidence."

Lowering his hand, Sherlock gives the evidence bag to the officer and turned his best stroppy look on him.

"I've phoned Lestrade. Is he on his way?"

"He's busy. I'm in charge. And it's not Sergeant; it's Detective Inspector. Dimmock."

Elise's eyebrows raised challengingly, all previous apprehension gone. "Someone's pissy."

His cold eyes snapped towards Elise, narrowing hatefully as he did so. "And who might you be."

Elise's gaze never wavered despite the tightness in her chest. "Elise Holmes. I specialize in sarcastic comments, pop culture references, and I don't think I'm going to like you very much."

Dimmock opened his mouth to speak but she cut him off with her next sentence. "You and Anderson would get along nicely. He's on forensics."

The DI turned toward Sherlock. "Why is there a child at this crime scene? Couldn't find a babysitter?"

"I'm almost fourteen!" Elise argued. "If anyone needs to be cared for it's you _baby face."_

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I have no desire to argue with you Inspector. Lestrade already cleared her to come with me anytime we see fit. If you have a problem, I suggest you take it up with him. I am afraid to say that that is an argument you are most likely going to lose as my daughter has been an asset to cases since she was in primary school. Your decision though. Not mine."

Dimmock let this information soak in. Finally- but not without an annoyed sigh- he held his hand out for the evidence bag. The consulting detective plopped it in his hand. The group moved out of the room, Elise especially grateful to be free of the stench of flesh. The pressure in her chest had subsided, thankfully, while the nausea still lingered. It took all the strength she had not to spill the contents of her breakfast on Van Coon's carpet. She took in a shaky breath.

Case ongoing or not, she longed for the safety of 221b.

…..

 **A/N: Thank you to all of you who have reviewed! I'm sorry that this is a couple days late but I was celebrating my birthday and the time got away from me. This is very short but I am posting a longer one soon to make up for my absence. I have big plans for the next few chapters….**

 **You'll just have to read to find out ;)**

 **R & R please.**

 **TheCurlyGal6218**


	10. The Blind Banker pt3

**The Blind Banker pt. 3**

 **A/n: This case is going to have more than three parts since the last chapter was too short and I don't want this one to be too long. Hope that's ok. My internet sucks so I'm sorry that this is a bit late.** **Do ya'll want shorter chapters and quicker updates or longer chapters and the update schedule we have already? - put at bottom.**

… **..**

"We're obviously looking at suicide. **"** Dimmock said confidently.

John nodded his agreement. "That does seem to be the only explanation of all the facts."

Sherlock and Elise remained silent, the latter still indecisive while the former removed his latex gloves.

"Wrong." He said. "It's one _possible_ explanation of some of the facts. You've got a solution you like but you're choosing to ignore anything you see that doesn't comply with it."

"Like?"

"The wound was on the right side of his head."

"And?"

"Van coon was left handed." He mimed out what his point, showing the near impossibility that Van Coon could shoot himself in that way. "Requires a bit of contortion."

Dimmock looked at him in disbelief, a common emotion to be directed toward the consulting detective. "Left handed?"

Sherlock's next sentence dripped with sarcasm. "Oh I'm amazed you didn't notice. All you have to do is look around this flat." He gestured to the table beside the sofa. "Coffee table on the left hand side; coffee mug handle pointing to the left. Power sockets: habitually used the ones on the left. Pen and paper on the left side of the phone because he picked it up with his right and took messages down with his left. D'you want me to go on?"

"No," John said tiredly. "I think you've about covered it."

Elise scrubbed a hand down her face. She knew her father would pay no mind to the wishes of the people around him. He would spew out all the evidence that he knew until his bid brain ran dry. Not one of his best qualities, but Elise had grown used to it.

"Oh I might as well. I'm at the bottom of the list." He said.

"Figures." Elise muttered.

He zeroed in on the kitchen. "There's a knife on the breadboard with butter on the right side of the blade because he used it with his left. It's highly unlikely that a left handed man would shoot himself in the right side of his head. Conclusion: someone broke in here and murdered him _. Only_ explanation of all the facts."

Elise scrubbed a hand down her face. "So another 'suicide' that was actually murder. Developing a sort of pattern her aren't we."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "This case isn't at all linked with the homicidal cab driver. Any connections you've made are entirely coincidental."

"I wasn't saying that they were related at all." She defended hotly. "I simply noticed the similarities between the two. Besides, the cabbie is dead."

John stiffened as she said this. It was still a bit of a sore subject for the army doctor. After all, he had been the one to pull the trigger. Thankfully, no one had found out the actual cause of the driver's fate. As Sherlock had said, John probably wouldn't have gotten in major trouble but the court case was one best avoided.

"But the gun… why-" Dimmock was saying.

"He was waiting for the killer." Sherlock interrupted. "He'd been threatened."

He walked away from the flabbergasted officer and went to retrieve his coat, scarf, and gloves. Elise, not having brought anything, followed him.

"What?"

"Today at the bank." John said. "A sort of warning."

"He fired a shot when the attacker came in."

"He knew all along." Elise added.

Dimmock still was confused. "And the bullet?"

"Went through the open window."

Dimmock laughed bitterly. "Oh come on! What are the chances of that?"

"Better than the chances of you getting a girlfriend anytime soon with that _winning_ personality you have." Elise remarked.

John tried his absolute hardest not to laugh while Inspector Dimmock glared at the snarky adolescent. He supposed that the relationship between the two would be similar to that of her and Anderson. Neither of them seemed to have a problem with that. The mutual disdain was infinite.

"Wait until you get the ballistics report." Sherlock said, not acknowledging the spat. "The bullet in his brain wasn't fired from his gun. I guarantee it."

"But if his door was locked from the inside, how did the killer get in?"

"Good!" Sherlock said condescendingly. "You're finally asking the right questions."

He flounced out of the room, his kin and blogger in tow, a seething Detective Inspector in their wake.

…

The group entered a cozy restaurant. Customers sat at tables and booths, sipping drinks, nibbling on their food, and making conversation with their tablemates. Waiters and hostesses milled about the room like worker bees in a hive. A heavenly aroma of spices wafted throughout the air, dancing against Elise's nose. While the sight certainly wasn't unpleasant, it was unexpected. Weren't they supposed to be on a case?

"What are we doing here?" Elise asked her father. "You never eat on cases daddy."

His eyes traveled over the room, drinking in every last detail of the scene. He ignored her question for a few moments as he did so. Even after, he gave her a vague answer. "I have some business to take care of."

His coat swished behind him as he walked towards a table. Elise and John reluctantly followed, intrigued yet reasonably tired. As she grew closer, she realized that the table held no one other than Sebastian Wilkes. He and his group were laughing over something Mr. Wilkes was saying.

"…and he's left trying to sort of cut his hair with a fork which of course can never be done-"

"It was a threat." Sherlock said upon reaching them. "That's what the graffiti meant."

Sebastian looked at him with visible irritation. "I'm kind of in a meeting. Can you make an appointment with my secretary?"

"I don't think this can wait. Sorry, Sebastian. One of your traders- someone who worked in your office- was killed."

"What?"

"Van Coon." Elise said.

John let out a deep breath. "The police are at his flat right now."

Sebastian was stunned. " _Killed?"_

Elise winced painfully and nodded. The nausea from earlier was beginning to set in again. Hopefully it would pass soon. Illness would slow them down, not a good thing when it came to murder mysteries. Besides, it was beginning to get interesting.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Sorry to interfere with everybody's digestion. Still, want to make an appointment? Would maybe, nine o'clock at Scotland Yard suit?"

Sebastian ran the tip of his index finger under his collar, thinking about the detective's proposal.

"I have to use the toilet."

….

Elise washed her hands in the sink of the ladies room, the creamy soap forming a lather on her hands. It stung horribly. The gashes on her skin that resulted from her picking habit didn't respond well to water. Or anything else for that matter. She really did try to stop, but she just couldn't. Bandages would have to be put on later.

She dried her hands with a paper towel and looked in the mirror. A few strands of black hair had managed to escape the hold of the ponytail. Elise tucked them behind her ears.

 _Buzz_

Elise jumped at the sound only to realize that it came from her phone. With an exaggerated groan she pulled the device from her jeans pocket.

 _1 new message: 888-7765_

 _Hey Elise_

She frowned at the message. Normally she would think it was a wrong number and dismiss it completely. But this person had called her by name. It had to be someone she knew.

 _But why don't I have the number saved? I never give my number out to just anyone. Who is this?_

After much internal debate _,_ she decidedto respond.

 _Who is this?- EH_

 _The man of your dreams ;)_

Elise froze.

 _Excuse me?-EH_

 _Just kidding. Its Leo. –LH_

A sigh of relief.

 _Oh. Hi- EH_

 _How did u get my number?-EH_

 _Christina gave it to me. –LH_

 _Course she did. What's up? We don't usually talk that much outside of school.- EH_

 _Just wanted to say hi. I realized that I didn't have your number in my phone so I asked blondie for it. Hope that's ok.- LH_

 _Yeah. That's fine.- EH_

 _I'm going to have to talk to you later though. I'm kind of busy. –EH_

 _Ok. Ttyl –LH_

 _Bye_ _\- EH_

Elise clicked out of the chat box and slapped a palm against her forehead. Damn Christina for giving her number to a guy she barely knew. Elise preferred to keep her social circle very limited. She had Christina and a few other acquaintances in which she spoke with. Only a few of which had a place in her contact list and very few of them actually utilized her number. Christina was the only one who she texted and enjoyed spending time with. Now she had gone and given her mobile phone number to a nuisance boy that always called her weird names.

Not to mention the fact that Leo had been acting weird lately.

First he had been jittery in science class. Elise had brushed that off. It didn't seem important. But then he had been at the bookstore after Christina went home. _That_ was what irked her. he had made her drop her books then… he _hugged_ her.

For no reason!

It was insane! But Elise could worry about that later. First she would have to help with this case. Then she could worry about her social life (If you could even call it that.)

With one last glance in the mirror, the curly haired teen excited the lavatory and into the atmosphere of the dining establishment.

She didn't see any sign of Sherlock or John so she decided to look for them outside. No luck.

 _They bloody left without me! His carelessness has reached a whole new level._

Elise sighed and hailed a cab, muttering obscenities under her breath. Thankfully she had enough pocket money on her to get within reasonable walking distance to Baker Street. Even still, she was cold, irritated, and impeccably queasy.

 _Curse you Sherlock Holmes._

…


	11. The Blind Banker part 4

**The Blind Banker part 4**

 **A/n: I've decided to stick with the current update schedule and chapter lengths for the time being. However, school starts for me in less than a week (internal screaming) so this may be subject to change. I'll keep you guys posted :3**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock BBC. I own Elise and the plots/original characters associated with her.**

 **Happy Reading!**

 **-TheCurlyGal6218**

…

When John arrived back at 221b, Sherlock was sitting on one of the dining chairs with his back to the table. He had printed out the photographs of the graffiti near and across Sir William's portrait and stuck them around the mirror above the fireplace. His fingers were steeped under his chin, eyes transfixed on the images.

"I said, could you get me that pen?" Sherlock said without looking up.

John was confused. He had just gotten there! "What? When?"

"About an hour ago."

John sighed. How was he supposed to fetch Sherlock a pen when he wasn't even home? Besides, the detective had a pair of working legs, he could get the writing utensil himself.

"Didn't notice I'd gone out, then." John muttered to himself. He looked around the flat, noticing the missing presence of a certain teenager. Usually Elise would be in the living room, reading on the couch, playing with her Guinea pig, or complaining of boredom with her father. If she wasn't there, she would be in her room, playing music from her speakers while she did god knows what. Neither of which were going on.

 _That's odd…_

"Sherlock where's Elise?"

The man ignored him, opting to stay exactly as he was.

"Sherlock?"

An unintelligible mutter.

"Sherlock, Elise isn't here."

Still nothing.

John's eyes widened with realization. _He couldn't have… Did he?_

"Did you leave her at the restaurant?"

"Oh relax." Sherlock said absently. "She has cab fare- I always make sure she does. She'll probably be joining us shortly."

John looked at him incredulously. For a declared genius, he often lacked the common sense and general tact needed to make reasonable decisions. John got that. He had somewhat come to terms with it since joining the Holmes household. This in no way excused Sherlock's behavior.

"What if something happens to her, Sherlock? It's an unfamiliar side of town and she's barely a teen!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "John, Elise is almost fourteen years old. I wouldn't call that _barely_ a teenager. If I had any doubt that she couldn't take care of herself, she wouldn't be going places on her own. She goes off on her own all the time. Now about this case… What are you doing?"

John dialed Elise's number into his phone and pressed the call button. No way would he stand by and do nothing. "I'm calling her to make sure she's ok."

"Your concern is unnecessary. I assure you she's fine."

"Yeah, you can shut up now." John said dismissively. He heard a click from the other end of the line.

" _Hello?"_

"Hey Elise. It's John. I was calling to see if you're ok."

" _Yeah I'm swell! Except for the fact that my father is a careless git! You can tell him I said that too."_

"Yeah… ok. Where are you?"

" _I caught a cab back to Baker Street. I'm almost there. Don't you dare let him run off without me again, John. Oh! And can you feed Gizmo? I forgot to do it this morning. Poor bugger is probably starved."_

"Yeah. I'm doing that now." He walked over to the cage, fetching the bag of food pellets when he passed the kitchen. "I'll see you when you get here."

" _Alright. Bye."_

"Bye."

He hung up and poured the food into the small, blue dish. The animal gratefully gobbled up his meal, his sharp teeth crunching into the hard morsels. John smiled and stroked his fur gently. Gizmo jumped in surprise, not yet used to seeing the unfamiliar face and feeling the man's touch. The animal scurried into his plastic igloo. Guinea pigs were timid like that, untrusting to the new and clingy to the old. John supposed that wasn't anything to take offense too. It must be hard to be so tiny in a world of giants.

He stood and picked up a pen from the table beside his chair. Without even looking at Sherlock, he tossed it in his direction. Sherlock caught it easily, still focused on the printed photographs. John walked over to the mirror to look more closely at them.

"So she's ok?" Sherlock asked.

"Yeah," he said. Then he sighed. "On another note, I went to see about a job at that surgery."

"How was it?" The consulting detective asked.

"It's great." John replied. "She's great."

"Who?"

John looked round at him, not realizing his slip of tongue until it was too late. "The job." He said quickly. Too quickly.

"She?" Sherlock pressed curiously.

"... It."

Sherlock looked at him suspiciously for a moment, not at all believing him, before turning back around. "Here, have a look."

"Hmm?"

Sherlock walked briskly over to the table and looked at the web page on his laptop, John right behind him. The lead article on the 'Online News' page is headlined, "Ghostly killer leaves a mystery for police." Next to it is a photograph of a bald man, and the article reads: An intruder who can walk through walls murdered a man in his London apartment last night. Brian Lukis, 41, a freelance journalist from Earl's Court was found shot in his fourth floor flat but all his doors and windows were locked and there were no apparent signs of a break in. A police spokesman said they are still uncertain how the assailant broke in.

"The 'intruder who can walk through walls.'" John commented.

"Happened last night. Journalist shot dead in his flat; doors locked, windows bolted from the inside – exactly the same as Van Coon."

The blonde doctor straightened up and looked at his flat mate with a horrified expression. "God. You think..."

"He's killed another one."

Sherlock bit his lip, thinking about what to do. John was reasonably horrified. The moment a homicide turned into a _multiple_ homicide case was frighteningly horrible. While it meant a more exciting ordeal for Sherlock and good pay for the Scotland Yarders, it also was the death of two people. It was grief for two sets of families and friends. This wasn't to say that these people were 100% innocent, but it was still a sad ordeal.

"John?"

He looked up abruptly, snapped free of his thoughts by Sherlock.

"What?" John asked.

"Call Elise back. Tell her to get the cabbie to take her to The Yard. I'll pay the fee when she arrives." He walked to the coat rack and swept his Belstaff off the hook and onto his shoulders. "Come on. Do it while you walk."

…..

Elise sighed as John hung up the phone. Apparently someone else had been killed and now they had to go to Scotland Yard. She was very tired, not to mention still a bit jittery from the crime scene earlier. Being in a cab also played a factor. The serial suicide cases were still fresh in her mind, as if it only happened yesterday. Even though it had been weeks, Elise could still hear the sound of Jeff Hope's voice, the way he called her 'sweetheart' like she was a weakling; a simpering child in pigtails and a frilly skirt. She could still her his body falling to the ground after John shot him, his pitiful whimpers wringing in her ears though her eyes remained closed.

Elise could still feel the terror of thinking her father was about to die, hot tears rushing down her face.

She hoped that it would go away soon. Feelings of nervousness were debilitating in tough jobs like this. Impulse was everything. Fear had to be shucked out the metaphorical window.

Nevertheless, she told the driver to turn around and head for The Yard, swallowing her unease like her daily dose of Prozac. Hopefully everything would be said and done soon so that she could go home and read. Maybe have a cup of tea. That never failed to calm her down. Elise propped her head against the window and watched as London flashed by. The sky was full of stratus clouds, making the world seem gray and cold and stormy. People bustled through the streets, kids with parents, businessmen barking into Blackberries, Dogs being walked in parks by their owners. It was a postcard of a typical day.

Soon the cab pulled up to the building. Sherlock and John stood outside, the former wearing an irritated expression on his face while the latter just looked exhausted. Much like herself. Her dad came up to the window and flung a wad of bills into the Cab driver's awaiting hand before helping Elise out, a bit rougher than usual due to his growing impatience. John gave a small smile in greeting. Elise returned the gesture though it came out as more of a grimace.

The group filed inside and headed toward Dimmock's office. The man sat in a big wheelie chair, drumming his fingers on the wooden desk. His lips curled when his eyes landed on the teen but he said nothing.

Good. His silence was a blessing.

John and Elise sat down in the provided chairs. Dimmock rolled his eyes when Sherlock strolled uncaringly behind his desk and began to type on the computer, not bothered to ask if he could use it. John snickered, the same thing having happened earlier today with his laptop.

 _Talk about Deja- Vu._

"Brian Lukis," The consulting detective began. "Freelance journalist. Murdered in his flat..."

He turned the laptop around to show Dimmock the web page which John was looking at earlier.

"...doors locked from the inside."

Dimmock scowled at the computer.

"You've got to admit," John said. "It's similar."

"It _has_ to be the same person." Elise said added. "Too much of a coincidence to be another person."

"Both men killed by someone who can...walk through solid walls."

Sherlock nodded. "Inspector, do you seriously believe that Eddie Van Coon was just another City suicide?"

Dimmock squirmed, not meeting his eyes. Sherlock looked up, exasperated, and sighed pointedly. "You have seen the ballistics report, I suppose?"

"Mm." Dimmock said, nodding. His embarrassment shone like the sun.

"And the shot that killed him: was it fired from his own gun?"

The Inspector was hesitant to answer. "No."

"No?" Sherlock clarified sarcastically. "So this investigation might move a bit quicker if you were to take my word as gospel."

Dimmock didn't say anything. Sherlock leaned forward over the desk and spoke quietly but intensely in his face.

"I've just handed you a murder enquiry." He jerked his head toward the computer. "Five minutes in his flat." He demanded.

Who could say no? Definitely not Dimmock.

…

Sherlock went upstairs once they got to Lukis' flat, shortly followed by Dimmock, John, and Elise. They walked into the living room. There was an open empty suitcase on the floor, books scattered everywhere. Several open newspapers also lie on the ground. Sherlock sauntered over to the kitchen area and looked through the window at the nearby rooftops of lower buildings. He pulled back the net curtain for a better look.

Elise noticed a black origami flower on the carpet, just like the one that Sherlock pulled from Van Coon's mouth. She stooped down to get a better look. It was folded the exact same, black paper with small embellishments carved in; extremely gorgeous yet ultimately terrifying. There was no doubt about it. This was definitely the work of the same killer.

 _Or killers._

"Four floors up." Sherlock said. "That's why they think they're safe. Put a chain across the door and bolt it shut; think they're impregnable."

"Obviously not or else they wouldn't be dead." Elise mused, still fascinatedly studying the Locus.

Sherlock walked into the middle of the room again.

"They don't reckon for one second that there's another way in." He turned back towards the stairs and looked up to the skylight on the ceiling.

Dimmock was confused- per usual. "I don't understand."

Sherlock went out on the landing. "You're dealing with a killer who can climb." Sherlock hopped up on something – maybe a box? She couldn't see from her crouch on the floor– to get closer to the skylight on the high, angled roof.

"What are you doing?" Inspector Dimmock asked.

"He clings to the walls like an insect." Sherlock answered, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. He unhooked the latch and pushed the window upwards. "That's how he got in."

"What?!" Dimmock grilled.

"Climbed up the side of the walls, ran along the roof, dropped in through this skylight."

"You're not serious!" Dimmock blustered. "Like Spiderman?!"

Elise looked up at the skylight, squinting at the brightness despite the gloomy day. She rattled off deductions in her head _. It's fairly high off the ground, at least 15-20 feet give or take a few. An unlucky fall from that height could result in serious injury depending on how one landed. Whoever got inside would have to be extremely talented with stunts and be able to land correctly in order to avoid bodily harm. Possible parkour involved? They could have used a rope in assistance, but there's no fact to support that theory. Nothing's on the ceiling. They had to have dropped._

"He scaled six floors of a Docklands apartment building," Sherlock said. "Jumped the balcony to kill Van Coon."

Elise wrinkled her nose. _Ok not_ _ **exactly**_ _parkour but close enough._

Dimmock laughed in disbelief. "Oh, ho-hold on!"

"And of course that's how he got into the bank. He ran along the window ledge and onto the terrace." Sherlock stepped back down onto the landing and looked around again, not unlike a king looking upon his subjects. "We have to find out what connects these two men."

His eyes fell on the pile of books scattered up the side of the staircase. Jumping down a few stairs, he picks up one particular book which has fallen open at its front page, showing that it has been borrowed from West Kensington Library. Slamming the book shut, he took it with him as he headed off down the stairs.

Elise groaned as she came to a standing position, her muscles protesting at the change of position. John removed himself from the wall he leant against, stretching his arms above his head and yawning. He gestured to the door where Sherlock had disappeared through, Elise marching over at his beckoning.

"Ladies first."

….

After a long Taxi Journey, Sherlock, John, and Elise were once again on an escalator, this time inside West Kensington Library. Elise breathed in a sigh of content. The sight of so many books was intoxicating, filling her with a marvelous sense of euphoria, numbing the ensuing Armageddon that was her nerves. Books. Beautiful paperbacks and hardbacks and leather bound beauties. Old yellow paper that smelled strangely like heaven and the comforting atmosphere that could only be reached in a place like this. The teen longed to browse around, read some synopsizes, and maybe check out one. Or two. Or three. She imagined herself sitting between the tall bookcases, drinking in the story like an alcoholic guzzled beer. The paper would crinkle under her touch, the text seemingly melting like velvet into her fingertips, and she would read.

But not right now. Work was to be done.

Sherlock led way to the aisle where Lukis' book came from, watching his daughter's longing gaze out of the corner of his eye. He would've let her go off had he been thinking about anything other than the case. But he wasn't, so he couldn't be bothered. She would trail off anyway if she was so inclined to do so.

He flipped to the back of the book from Lukis' flat where the checkout card was. "Date stamped on the book is the same day that he died." The detective said. He checked the reference number stuck to the bottom of the book's spine. Then, he went to the correct place along the shelves and started pulling out the publications and examining them. John, probably just for something to do, pulled out some too on a nearby shelf opposite Sherlock's, quickly finding what he needed. Elise leaned against the shelf, closing her eyes to collect herself. The rigidness wouldn't leave. Why was she so tense?

 _Breath. Just breathe. Keep calm and breath deep._

"Sherlock." John said.

Elise opened her eyes at John's voice. Sherlock turned and saw John staring into the gap left by the books removed. He stepped over to him and reached to pull some more off the shelf. After a bit more digging, the back of the bookcase was shown, revealing another graffiti mark- just like the one at the bank.

The curly haired teen sighed and walked over to where the boys stood, both of them with mildly surprised looks on their faces.

"What did you lot find…" the words died on her lips when she saw the yellow symbol, blaringly bright in all its glory.

A message from the murderer.

Another clue.

Sherlock took some photos of the new development on his cell phone while John helped the youngest of their party put the books back where they had found them. Once they were through, the trio exited the library, no one choosing to say anything, all of them lost in thought as they entered the cab Sherlock hailed.

 _So much for calming down. If anything I'm more on edge._ This new lead proved once and for all that Van Coon and Lukis were slain by the same people. Both victims had the code posted in a place in which they would be sure to see it. It was the same paint, same color, same everything; identical. A combined total of two black origami lotus flowers were found at each respective crime scene, one found in a mouth and the other strewn on the floor.

They had what, when, and how. Now they just needed to figure out why.

When they got back to 221B, Elise threw herself onto the couch after checking that Gizmo had food. Thankfully, she discovered that John followed her directions and fed him earlier. She was completely and utterly exhausted, the fact that she was anxious not helping one bit. Sherlock added the new photographs of the shelf to the earlier photos stuck around the mirror in the living room. John stood next to him, both men looking at the pictures.

Sherlock was the first to end the deafening silence. "So, the killer goes to the bank, leaves a threatening cipher for Van Coon; Van Coon panics, returns to his apartment, locks himself in. Hours later, he dies."

John spoke next. "The killer finds Lukis at the library; he writes the cipher on the shelf where he knows it'll be seen; Lukis goes home."

"Late that night, he dies too."

Elise pinched the bridge of her nose. This was going to be difficult. "So we know they were killed by the same person. We sort of know- _how_ , dad said they climbed the walls to get in. But we don't have a motive." She looked up at them with her tired blue eyes. "We _need_ a motive."

John turned towards the curly haired detective. "Why did they die, Sherlock?" he asked softly.

Sherlock ran his fingers over the line painted across Sir William's face.

"Only the cipher can tell us. "He thoughtfully tapped his finger against the photo. Then his expression sharpened. Apparently, he had an idea.

Elise looked at him, eyebrow raised in questioning. "Have something to share daddy dearest?" she said sarcastically, picking at her nails.

He sighed and walked over to her and pried her hands apart, his eyes cold yet bright at the same time.

"Go bandage your hands. And be quick about it. We have to go somewhere."

Elise stood slowly, taking great care not to let her feelings get the best of her _,_ and made her way to the restroom _._ Her stomach bubbled with apprehension, nauseating her slightly and making her lightheaded. _Why am I so on edge today? I haven't done anything! Don't panic. Don't panic. You can panic when the case is over but not now. If you puke now then Dad and John will make you stay behind. Stop being weak Elise. Just bandage up your stupid hands and go!_

Those thoughts in no way helped. Her chest tightened painfully and tears welled up in her eyes. _Why does this happen to me? Am I not cut out for this? Am I really meant to be a detective? Is there something wrong with me?_

"Elise come on!" John shouted from the living room.

She did as she was told quickly and re- entered the sitting room, fresh wrappings coating her self-ravaged hands. John and Sherlock already had their coats and gloves on. Elise grabbed her own from the rack, slipping it on as they traipsed down the stairs, repeating her mantra over and over.

 _Keep calm and breath deep._

… _._

Soon they were near the rear of the National Art Gallery where a young man has spray-stenciled onto a solid grey metal door the image of a policeman holding a rifle in his hands. The image has a pig's snout in place of a human nose. A large canvas bag is at the man's feet and he is holding spray cans in both hands. With one of the cans he has sprayed his tag, "RAZ", below the image and is now adding the finishing touches to his 'artwork.' He continued spraying, unperturbed, as the group approached.

"Part of a new exhibition." The vandalistic man said casually, as if Sherlock was one of his best mates.

"Interesting." The tall detective said disinterestedly.

"I call it Urban Bloodlust Frenzy." He said with a chuckle.

"Catchy!" John commented.

Elise nodded. "It's got a nice punk ring to it."

Raz nodded and kept spraying. "I've got two minutes before a Community Support Officer comes round that corner. Can we do this while I'm working?"

Sherlock produced his phone from his coat pocket and held it out towards Raz, who turned around and tossed one of the spray cans at John. He instinctively caught it, and looked at Sherlock and Raz in bewilderment. Raz took Sherlock's phone and scrolled through the photographs of the yellow ciphers from Sir William's office and the library.

"Know the author?"

Raz twisted his mouth in thought. "Recognize the paint. It's like Michigan; hardcore propellant. I'd say zinc."

"What about the symbols: d'you recognize them?"

"Do you know what they mean? Cause we sure don't." Elise added.

Raz squinted at the screen. "Not even sure it's a proper language. Ain't no way of telling what it means, sweetheart."

Elise flinched when he called her 'sweetheart'. Flashes of the cabbie pointing a "gun" at Sherlock flitted through her mind, chilling her to the bone and making her feel even sicker. Her chest tightened painfully at the memory, a memory that she didn't want to relive with every fiber of her being. She brushed it to the side before she got too worked up over it, skillfully diverting her attention back to the painting.

 _At least I know that's a trigger now._

"Two men have been murdered, Raz." Sherlock said pointedly. "Deciphering this is the key to finding out who killed them."

"What, and this is all you've got to go on? It's hardly much, now, is it?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Are you gonna help us or not?"

Raz shrugged and looked at the phone again. "I'll ask around."

"Somebody must know something about it."

"Oi!"

The three of them looked round and saw two Community Support Officers hurrying towards them. Sherlock instantly snatched his phone from Raz, grabbed Elise by the hand, and ran off in the opposite direction. Raz fled too, dropping his spray can, and kicking his bag toward John. John was the one left behind this time. Not Elise.

Elise shook Sherlock's hand from hers but continued to run, thankful for her Track experience and long legs. It comes in handy when you had to keep up with a 6 foot tall detective who could run like the wind. Elise's feet pounded against the pavement of the alley, mirroring that of her father's. Raz was nowhere to be seen, presumably turning one of the corners they passed on the way. She hadn't expected him to stick around. He didn't seem like the type to stay in one place for too long.

After all, he had just vandalized a building.

The Holmes' eventually came to a stop once they were a safe distance away, gasping desperately for air. Elise doubled over, putting her head between her knees as she fought the anxiety plaguing her. Running from authority definitely wasn't helping in _any_ means to settle her. Her vision clouded, her head seemingly growing in weight.

 _Don't throw up. Don't throw up. Don't throw up._

"Elise?" Sherlock asked, enviously regaining his composure quickly. "Let's go."

She righted herself, some of her discomfort ebbing away. The dizziness had cleared enough to let her walk, albeit staggeringly. She took a few deep breaths to calm herself, inhaling through her nose and exhaling through her mouth just like her doctor showed her. It helped only slightly. _My god, is this what death feels like._

Elise had become pretty skilled at hiding her anxiety. That didn't mean it hurt any less. To her, one of the worst feelings in the world was trying to hold back a panic attack in public. She couldn't explain it to anyone accurately. Hell she couldn't even explain it to herself.

Sherlock didn't notice her distress, too wrapped up in his own thoughts. He had already begun walking away, leaving Elise to trudge behind him, still reeling, fists clenched.

 _Get it together Elise! Quit being stupid! You're fine!_

None of these thoughts helped her. She took a few staggering breaths and exhaled like her doctor had taught her the best she could. She continued this process with closed eyes, imagining herself anywhere but here.

 _C'mon Holmes. Work needs to be done._

Sherlock thought about what Raz had told them. He knew what kind of paint it was but that wasn't significant. Not yet. Although the fellow didn't have a clue as to what the symbols meant, he could find people who did and that's what was important. Anyone with even the smallest piece information was beneficial at this stage. Sherlock would never admit it, but sometimes, he could use all the help he could get.

"Um, Dad?"

His daughter's shaky address tugged him free of his mind.

"We forgot John."

….

Elise rested on the couch, a cup of tea in hand, reading a book silently. It was a tale of a mysterious disappearing girl and the teen boy hopelessly infatuated with her. The premise had seemed terrible at first, but the librarian's recommendation and a skim of the first page had intrigued her. So she had picked it up. Good thing she did too. It was actually pretty decent. Would've been a missed opportunity had she not. This novelization managed to calm her.

Sherlock stood at the fireplace again. The mirror was now almost completely covered because he has added several sheets of paper with various ciphers and pictograms on them. His head was lowered as he consulted a book, much like Elise though the reasoning was different. While Elise read for pleasure, Sherlock read because he needed to in order to solve his case. Completely different motives.

Then again, they were completely different people.

A slamming door announces John's return to the flat, an angry one at that judging by his face. He clearly had been through something since the Holmes' had seen him last.

"You've been a while." Sherlock said.

John walked a few more paces into the room, his shoulders rigid and his fists clenched. He stopped, blinking as he fights to hold onto his anger, then turns to Sherlock.

"Yeah," he said tightly. "Well, you know how it is. Custody sergeants don't really like to be hurried, do they?"

Elise put down her book and grimaced. She truly did feel bad about dashing off without him, despite Sherlock's indifference.

"Yeah. Sorry about that." She said apologetically. "If it makes you feel any better…" she racked her brain for anything to comfort John but came up empty. "Yeah actually I've got nothing. Sorry."

He started pacing, an angry half-smile half-grimace on his face.

"Just formalities: fingerprints, charge sheet; and I've gotta be in Magistrates Court on Tuesday."

"What?" Sherlock said, obviously not having paid attention.

John was practically boiling. "Me, Sherlock, in court on Tuesday. They're given' me an ASBO!"

"Good." The detective said absently. "Fine."

John looked at the other Holmes with an 'is he serious?' look on his face. Elise shrugged helplessly.

"He's been like this all day."

 _He didn't even notice I had a panic attack._

John addressed his flat mate again. "You wanna tell your little pal he's welcome to go and own up any time."

Sherlock, still blissfully ignorant, slammed his book closed. "This symbol: I still can't place it."

Turning and putting down the book, he walked over to John who has just started to take off his jacket, and pulls the jacket back onto his shoulders. "No, I need you to go to the police station..."

"Oi!" John protested.

"... Ask about the journalist."

"Daddy you can't just force him out!" Elise sprung off the couch, much to her stomach's dismay.

"His personal effects will have been impounded. Get hold of his diary, or something that will tell us his movements."

Sherlock and John disappeared down the stairs, Elise close behind.

They went out onto the street.

"Gonna go and see Van Coon's P.A." Sherlock said. "If we retrace their steps, somewhere they'll coincide."

He walked off down the street. Elise and John were left alone.

"Well I guess it's just you and me huh?" John said, calmed down a bit from before. Elise offered him a soft smile.

"I guess so."

John saw a taxi coming around the corner and hailed it. As it pulls over to the curb he sees an Oriental-looking woman with dark hair and sunglasses standing on the other side of the road and taking a photograph. Her camera is aimed in his direction. He bends to the taxi driver's window.

"Scotland Yard."

"Right."

He and Elise climbed into the back of the taxi. John looked to Elise questioningly.

"Did you see that?" He asked her.

John stole a glance behind him. The woman was gone.

 _Talk about strange._

…

Sherlock was in Van Coon's office, standing beside his personal assistant, Amanda, looked at an online calendar. She had proved to be fairly helpful thus far and not as bothersome as others he had met. While she wasn't the brightest bulb in box- or at least by Sherlock's standards- Amanda managed to carry out what the detective needed without that much of a fuss. The late Van Coon had picked a capable assistant.

"Flew back from Dalian Friday." Amanda said. "Looks like he had back-to-back meetings with the sales team."

"Can you print me up a copy?"

"Sure."

"What about the day he died?" Sherlock asked. "Can you tell me where he was?"

Amanda looked at the screen, biting her lip as she searched. "Sorry. Bit of a gap."

Sherlock began to doubt his former opinions on the blonde woman's capability.

Then she said something useful. "I have all his receipts."

 _Bingo._

"Let me fetch them."

She left the room only to return a moment later, a stack of paper in her hands. She spread the receipts out on the desk. Sherlock watched her as she carried out the simple task, a question burning like fire in the back of his throat.

"What kind of a boss was he, Amanda? Appreciative?"

Amanda laughed at the thought. "Um, no. That's not a word I'd use. The only things Eddie appreciated had a big price tag."

Sherlock nodded and knelt on the floor to give himself easier access to the receipts. While he was taking off his gloves, his watchful eye detected a pump-action bottle of luxury hand lotion at the back of the desk. He glanced sneakily at Amanda.

"Like that hand cream. He bought that for you, didn't he?"

 _This wasn't the purchase of a mediocrely payed assistant. This was the purchase of a wealthy businessman. Clearly he was attached to this woman personally along with professionally. Otherwise, he wouldn't spend money- no matter how plentiful- on a lavish gift. Amanda mentioned that he was unappreciative though. The relationship either ended badly or is ongoing and rough. I favor the latter. If it had ended badly, the hand cream would've been disposed of._

The accusation threw Amanda off. Fiddling nervously with a pin in her hair, she looked at the detective in surprise. Sherlock shuffled through the paperwork and picked up a receipt from a licensed taxi. Dated 22 March 2010 and timed at 10:35, the receipt is for £18.50. He handed it up to Amanda.

"Look at this one. Got a taxi from home on the day he died. Eighteen pounds fifty."

She relaxed when the subject was changed. "That would get him to the office." Amanda elaborated.

"Not rush hour; check the time." Sherlock indicated. "Mid-morning. Eighteen would get him as far as..."

"The West End. I remember him saying."

Sherlock found a London Underground ticket with the same date on it and issued at "Piccadilly", which is spelled incorrectly. He then proceeded to hand it to Amanda before rummaging through the receipts again.

"Underground. Printed at one in Piccadilly."

Amanda took the ticket and examined it. "So he got a Tube back to the office. Why would he get a taxi into town and then the Tube back?"

"Because he was delivering something heavy." Sherlock answered. He kept digging through the mounds. "Didn't want to lug a package up the escalator."

"Delivering?" Amanda asked with a raised brow.

"To somewhere near Piccadilly Station. Dropped the package, delivered it and then..."

He found another receipt and lifted it to show her. It was from an Italian expresso joint. His mind flashed to Elise and her love of coffee and pizza. The girl could literally be condemned to a diet of nothing but that and wouldn't complain. Her love for those foods was impressively strong.

 _Maybe once I solve this I can take her there? I'm sure she would like- Ugh focus Sherlock. No straying thoughts on a case._

"... Stopped on his way. He got peckish."

…

Elise and John walked down the street after retrieving Lukis' diary. Elise felt like completely and utterly drained. The soothing effects that her earlier cup of tea had on her stomach were gone, replaced with a sharp, burning sensation in her lower abdomen. In an attempt to distract herself from her predicament, she decided to text Christina. Elise still wanted to know what possessed her best friend into giving her mobile number to Leo. She wasn't mad about it, just curious.

 _Message sent to contact: Christina Bentley._

 _Hey- EH_

 _Can I talk to you? – EH_

It took her about 5 minutes to respond.

 _Yah what's up?_ _-CB_

 _Leo Henrik texted me today…- EH_

 _Oh?-CB_

 _Yeah. Any idea how he got my number? –EH_

 _I might've given it to him…- CB_

 _You might've?_ _ **Really?**_ _\- EH_

 _Ok. I did. –CB_

 _I know ;) Why? – EH_

 _He asked for it. I didn't think you would care. Besides, you need more friends. – CB_

 _Do you care? – CB_

 _No, I guess I don't care.-EH_

 _And I'm fine with who I have thanks. –EH_

 _If you say so. –CB_

Elise pocketed her phone and sighed. She loved Christina like a sister. That didn't mean that she didn't get on her nerves.

John read the diary as they walked, completely engrossed in what he was reading. Because of this, he hadn't noticed a certain detective walking obliviously towards him. Sherlock and John collided, both men grunting in surprise.

"Right." John said.

Elise gave a half smile. "We got the diary. Dimmock was sufficiently annoying but he handed it over eventually."

Sherlock nodded furtively, not wanting to waste time with formalities. "Great. Eddie Van Coon brought a package here the day he died – whatever was hidden inside that case. I've managed to piece together a picture using scraps of information..."

"Sherlock..." John interrupted.

"... Credit card bills, receipts. He flew back from China, then he came here."

"Sherlock..."

"Somewhere in this street; somewhere near. I don't know where, but..."

John pointed to the other side of the road where a small shop sat. "That shop over there."

Sherlock stopped his rapid fire banter, looked at the shop, then looked back to John with a frown. "How can you tell?" He asked bemusedly.

John rapped on the book in his hands. "Lukis' diary." He showed the diary to Sherlock. "He was here too. He wrote down the address." John started walking to the shop.

Elise laughed at the baffled expression on Sherlock's face. He frowned

"Why are you laughing? What's funny?"

Elise covered her mouth with her hand to quiet the sounds. "Your face. It's refreshing to see someone figure something out before you."

And with that she followed John to the shop.

….

 **A/N: See? I told you this would be long** **this story is really fun to write**

 **Thank you to all you lovely reviewers and those who have favorited and followed. Seeing my Inbox fill with Fanfiction love is really satisfying.**

 **Have a good day ya'll!**

 **Review?**


	12. The Blind Banker part 5

**The Blind Banker part 5**

 **A/N: 2 more chapters for this case after this. Meep. Sorry for the wait. School is a pain in the rear on the first week :P**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock. I own Elise :)**

…

The inside of the shop was jam packed with merchandise, many of which featured a cartoonish cat or a red and gold color scheme. Flowery plates and other china were displayed in a glass case on the back wall. Posters with the Chinese language hung on the walls. A small register sat on a brown wood table, a fine layer of dust coating the metal contraption. Elise thought it was all very touristy. While nothing in the store was low quality, it didn't seem like a place where people would frequent on a regular basis. This fact was supported especially by the sketchy location.

The woman at the counter was a middle aged Asian woman with short black hair, clearly pleased to have customers. John muttered a hello as he walked over to investigate items on a nearby shelf. Sherlock walked towards the back of the store while Elise looked at the rows of waving felines near the front. The woman held up a ceramic cat for their viewing.

"You want lucky cat?" The shopkeeper asked.

John smiled apologetically. "No, thanks. No."

"Ten pound." She insisted. "Ten pound!"

"No." He smiled awkwardly.

The woman, clearly not accepting of his refusal, was persistent. "I think your wife, she will like!"

"No. Thank you."

He turned away and over to one of the tables housing small handle-less cups.

The woman looked disappointed that she hadn't made a sale. Elise felt bad for her. If she had any money on her person, she would've gotten the stupid thing herself. Maybe she could give to Christina or something as a gift. A pointless gift but a gift all the same. Too bad she had spent her remaining pounds on cab fare earlier.

Deciding to at least try and cheer her up, Elise turned toward the woman and smiled a little. "It's a very nice cat. But we're in a bit of a hurry. Perhaps another time."

The woman nodded curtly and busied herself with making the display neater. She didn't say anything else.

 _At least you tried._ With a shrug, Elise wandered over to a collection of paper fans.

"Sherlock."

Elise looked up at her father's name. John held a white tea cup with a blue pattern in his shaking hands. Sherlock, who has picked up one of the statues, puts it back on the shelf and comes over to him. Elise put down the fan in her hand and curiously leaned over.

John pointed at the strip of paper on the bottom surface of the cup. "The label there."

Elise's eyebrows raised. It was the same as the one on the portrait of Sir Williams, a sort of figure eight with a slash at the head. "Exactly the same as the cipher

Shortly afterwards, they have left the shop and are walking down the street.

"It's an ancient number system!" Sherlock said excitedly. "Hangzhou. These days, only street traders use it. Those were numbers written on the wall at the bank and at the library."

He walked over to a greengrocer's which has some of its wares on display outside the shop. The various boxes have handwritten signs on them giving the names of the vegetables in both Chinese and English, and underneath is the cost of that particular item in both Hangzhou and English. He picks up various signs, checking the symbols.

"Numbers written in an ancient Chinese dialect."

John spotted a sign with the upside down eight and slash above it and its English equivalent beneath. "It's a fifteen! What we thought was the artist's tag – it's a number fifteen."

"And the blindfold – the horizontal line? That was a number as well."

Elise laughed amiably. "All this time and we thought it was words. But it's numbers!"

Sherlock grinned triumphantly. "The Chinese number one."

"We've found it!"

Sherlock turns and walks away. John smiled and turns to follow him. But as he did so, he sees the same woman who was taking a photograph outside 221b standing nearby. The mysterious figure still wore her dark sunglasses, she again has her camera raised and pointed towards him as she takes a picture. Someone walks across her, obscuring his view of her for a moment, and by the time the person has passed, she has vanished. John frowned, and then followed after his friends.

 _Who the hell is that?_

Shortly afterwards, they're staking out The Lucky Cat, Sitting at a table in the window of the restaurant opposite the shop. Sherlock wrote two Hangzhou numbers and their English equivalents onto a paper napkin. John sits opposite him, also writing notes. Elise watched them as they worked, wishing for something to help with.

"Two men travel back from China." John said. "Both head straight for the Lucky Cat emporium. What did they see?"

"It's not what they saw; it's what they both brought back in those suitcases." Sherlock corrected.

"And you don't mean duty free."

A waitress brought over two plates of food and put them down on the table; One for Elise and one for John.

"Thank you." He said with a friendly smile.

Elise looked at her meal distastefully. It wasn't that it didn't look delicious- quite the opposite in fact. She had just lost her appetite completely. She pushed her pasta around with her fork, trying to work up the hunger she felt earlier. Finally, she just shoveled a mouthful in. Hungry or not, she had to at least _try_ and eat. John and Sherlock would be sure to ask questions if she didn't.

"Think about what Sebastian told us; about Van Coon," Sherlock said. "How he stayed afloat in the market."

"Lost five million." John said in between bites.

"... Made it back in a week."

"Mm."

"That's how he made such easy money."

"He was a smuggler." He took another mouthful of food.

"A guy like him – it would have been perfect."

Elise grimaced as she took another forkful of noodles. The white sauce clung to her lip and she wiped it away with her sleeve. "What did he steal? Drugs? Money? Artifacts?"

Sherlock tapped his chin. "He was a Business man ... making frequent trips to Asia. And Lukis was the same; a journalist writing about China."

"Mm." John mumbled.

"Both of them smuggled stuff out, and the Lucky Cat was their drop-off."

Elise picked her bandages in thought. "So it's something pertaining to the shop right? The place wasn't picked at random, it was deliberate. They would have to have reason to be there. Whatever they stole must be for someone who works there."

"But why did they die?" John quizzed. "I mean, it doesn't make sense. If they both turn up at the shop and deliver the goods, why would someone threaten them and kill them after the event, after they'd finished the job?"

Sherlock sat back thoughtfully for a few seconds, then smiles as he realizes the answer.

"What if one of them was light-fingered?"

John raised his eyebrows. "How do you mean?"

"Stole something; something from the hoard."

John's eyes lit up with realization. "And the killer doesn't know which of them took it, so he threatens them both. Right."

Sherlock looked out of the window towards the shop, then raised his eyes to the windows above it. Looking down to the ground floor level again, his gaze sharpens.

"Remind me ... when was the last time that it rained?" Without waiting for a reply, he stands up and leaves the restaurant. John, who has probably managed only two mouthfuls of his meal, sits back in exasperation but then dutifully gets up and follows. Elise did the same, uncaring about her unfinished meal as she hadn't wanted it anyway.

Over the road, Sherlock bends down to the Yellow Pages. The plastic wrapper still has drops of water on it, and the top of it has broken open a little. Sherlock runs his fingers over the top of the wet exposed pages of the directory.

"It's been here since Monday." He straightened up and rang doorbell. He only waits a couple of seconds, then looks to his right and heads off in that direction. There's an alleyway beside the flat which the boys walked down.

Elise stared at them incredulously. With a hefty sigh, she called after them as she reluctantly followed. "So what?"

Sherlock kept walking as he answered. "No-one's been in that flat for at least three days."

"Could've gone on holiday." John supplied.

"D'you leave your windows open when you go on holiday?" Sherlock asked pointedly.

Soon, they were nearing the rear of the building. It was dank, dark, and mildew grew on the sides of the dirty white walls. Water dribbled down from a rain gauge about a yard off the ground. Sherlock looked up to see a cantilevered metal fire escape above his head. Taking a short run at it, he jumps up and grabs the end, pulling it down towards him until it touches the ground, then runs up the steps towards the open window of the flat. As he reaches the top, the ladder swings back to the horizontal position behind him.

"Sherlock!"

"Dad!"

John tried to pull the ladder down but he was much too short. Elise could've reached it on tiptoe, but it was already too late, the detective was already climbing in through the window.

John grabbed her hand and ushered her towards the front of the building. "C'mon."

…..

Sherlock climbs in through the window, landing in the kitchen. He cried out in muffled alarm as a vase on a nearby table almost gets knocked off by his arm. Thinking quickly, he thankfully managed to catch the item before it hits the floor. Then he noticed it; a wet patch on the rug in the precise place where the vase would have hit if it had reached the ground. Sherlock stared at it for a few moments before calling out the window to his daughter and John. "Someone else has been here." He shouted.

He put the vase back onto the table. His eyes roamed around, assessing every last detail about Ms. Yao's home. Sherlock muttered silent observations to himself, talking too quietly for anyone to hear even if they were still nearby. "Somebody else broke into the flat and knocked over the vase just like I did."

Sherlock looked around the kitchen. It was small, a stove on the end farthest from him and cabinets lining the top half of wall. A tiny dining table was in the middle of the room, beaded curtains hanging in the archway just beyond it, a washer and dryer on the left. The detective bent down to the washing machine and opens it, taking out an item of Soo Lin's clothes. He sniffs it and grimaced. Downstairs, John rings on the doorbell. Sherlock puts the item back into the washing machine and pushes the door closed, then he reached for a tea towel hanging up nearby.

 _Dry._

"D'you think maybe you could let me in this time?" John called from downstairs.

Sherlock moved further into the flat, taking quiet hunters steps.

"Can you not keep doing this, please?" Another voice called _. Elise._

Sherlock took a pint of milk from the fridge. Unscrewing the lid, he sniffed the contents. His face pulled into disgust at the rancid smell, nearly triggering his gag reflex.

 _Spoiled._ "I'm not the first." He called down.

"What?" John responded

Sherlock raised his voice so that his friend could hear. "Somebody's been in here before me!"

Even still, the veteran couldn't make out what he was telling him. "What are you saying?"

Sherlock gave up and took his pocket magnifier from his coat. He looked down to where a foot rucked up the rug, leaving an impression of the intruder's shoe. "Size eight feet." He pushed through the beaded curtain between the kitchen and the bedroom/living room, bent forward while he examined the rug. "Small, but...athletic."

Sherlock stalked over to the end table on his right. He picked up a framed photograph of two young Chinese children – a boy and a girl around 6 years old. A fresh handprint is on the glass where someone has pressed their fingers against the image of the girl. Sherlock held the magnifier over the fingerprints as he gently runs his gloved fingers along them to gauge the size. "Small, strong hands." Closing the magnifier, he puts down the photograph.

"Our acrobat."

He frowned to himself, glancing around. "But why didn't he close the window when he left...?"

His voice trailed off as he realized what was going on. The detective rolled his eyes at his apparent slowness. "Oh, stupid. Stupid. Obvious." He belittled. Sherlock's eyes roamed over the room, looking for what he already knew was there. "He's still here."

He looked around the room and sees an ornately decorated free-standing folding screen shielding the bed. Putting his magnifier into his pocket, he walked carefully towards it. Once close enough, he grabbed the edge of the screen and pulled it back.

 _No one._

Then a scarf was around his neck.

Sherlock fell to the ground, his legs collapsing under him from the surprising force. His attacker had an impressive grip, cutting off his air supply and digging painfully into him. Sherlock clawed at the silken torture device, trying futilely to relieve the pressure on his throat but the assailant – dressed all in black – continues to throttle him.

Nevertheless, the detective fought against him. "John!" he tried to yell. "John!"

No one could hear them.

 _How could they? You have a scarf restricting your speaking capabilities idiot. Now think!_

But Sherlock couldn't escape. Dark spots danced teasingly at the edges of his vision, a reminder that if he didn't get oxygen soon, he would fall into unconsciousness. His struggles became weaker, his eyes betraying his thoughts and beginning to slide closed. Sherlock's hands fell free from the scarf. They now lay limp at the sides.

 _Elise… I never got to…_

Then the attacker let go. Sherlock vaguely felt something slip into the pocket of his belstaff. In a blur of black, the man was gone, leaving the dark haired detective on the ground.

 _Get up._

Sherlock choked and coughed, tugging the scarf from around his neck and rolling onto his front before getting up onto his hands and knees. As the attacker disappears through the beaded curtain into the kitchen, Sherlock groans and pulls his own scarf loose, gasping as he gets his breath back. After a minute or two, he was breathing a little better. Sherlock sat up on his heels. He dug in his coat pocket and pulled out a black origami paper flower.

 _The exact same Locus from the murder scenes._

… _.._

Elise studied him carefully. Something was definitely different then when she last saw him. His scarf was loosened, not to where anyone would notice unless you were truly paying attention. His clothes were a bit rumpled on the legs and knees. Breaths were tugged from his mouth at a faster than normal rate. The skin on his cheeks was paper white, lacking the small amount of flush that kept him from looking translucent.

Elise saw Sherlock's eyes shift to hers before flickering away. Then, he began to speak.

"The, uh, milk's gone off and the washing's starting to smell." Sherlock said croakily. "Somebody left here in a hurry three days ago."

Elise raised her eyebrows. Not at what he said, but the _way_ he said it _. His voice wasn't as hoarse before. What happened in there?_

"Somebody?" John asked obliviously.

Sherlock nodded, voice still rough. "Soo Lin Yao. We have to find her." He bent down to pick up a fallen envelope on the pavement.

"But how, exactly?"

Sherlock picked up a folded envelope. On the back of it is written:

 _SOO LIN_

 _Please ring me_

 _Tell me you're_

 _OK_

 _Andy_

He unfolds the envelope and looks at the front of it. Printed in the bottom right hand corner is:

 _NATIONAL_

 _ANTIQUITIES_

 _MUSEUM_

"Maybe we could start with this." He ground out.

He walked out, closing the door behind him, and headed off down the road, John and Elise curiously following.

Elise couldn't keep it to herself anymore. "Dad, what's wrong with your voice?"

"Yeah," John attested. "You've gone all croaky. Are you getting a cold?"

The detective cleared his throat and coughed, nodding vigorously. "I'm fine."

The curly haired teen wasn't convinced. How could a person go from perfectly fine to wheezing out words in a matter of minutes? Something had to have happened in the flat. Elise jogged to the front of the small pack where her father walked. "Liar." Elise mumbled to him, quiet enough so that the other man couldn't hear. "What happened?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "It's useless getting anything past you isn't it?"

Elise grinned up at him. "I learned from the best."

A smile tugged at the corners of his lips but nothing else was said. Elise sighed and let herself fall back. Although her dad wouldn't admit anything, she could guess what had happened in Soo Lin's flat.

…

Elise leaned against one of the wooden tables in the museum, picking her nails as a source of comfort. Sherlock paced around a display area while he interviews Andy- the boy who wrote the note to Ms. Yao. The young man had thick curly hair, similar to Sherlock's aside from the much shorter length. He was average height, a thankfully friendly (slightly goofy) aura about him. The youngest of the present Holmes 'was grateful for that. She was in no mood to make her usual defensive quips. Andy didn't seem like he would provoke her though.

John stood next to her with exhaustion evident on his face. Everyone was becoming increasingly tired and irritable as the long day wore on. Sherlock included. He would never admit it but Elise could tell. After almost thirteen years, she would be stupid to _not_ be able tell. Her dad wasn't the only one who could deduce.

"When was the last time that you saw her?" The man in question asked.

"This morning." Andy replied. "They told me she'd resigned just like that."

Sherlock looked at another case containing some jade figurines, and then at a piece of artwork.

"Just left her work unfinished."

Sherlock turned to face the group. "What was the last thing that she did on her final afternoon?"

Andy nodded to stairs on the far side of the room. "Follow me."

Sherlock, John, and Elise descended the steps. Andy brought the group to the basement archive, and turned on the lights as he leads them in.

"She does this demonstration for the tourists – a-a tea ceremony. So she would have packed up her things and just put them in here."

He led them to the open stack and started turning a handle at the end to widen the gap. John goes to stand behind him and looked into the stack but Sherlock has noticed something more interesting in the shadows further along the room. He walks closer to it. On a stand is a life-sized sculpture of a nude woman ... and yellow paint has been spray painted across the front of it. An almost horizontal straight line goes across the eyes, and over the body has been sprayed the open upside down eight with the almost horizontal line above it. Elise turned in confusion, her eyes widening as she saw his discovery.

 _Another cipher._

They didn't stay much longer after that.

Outside the museum, night has fallen, giving the world a cold look as the moon rose higher in the black sky. The city lights were too bright for stars. Shops gave off an inviting glow from the lit awnings above the doors and in the windows, an enticement for any shopaholic. Most people had vacated the museum district though, leaving the streets sparse with the exception of a few loitering civilians. The crisp air held the sharp tang of water, which was odd being it hadn't rained. Elise breathed in deeply from her nose. Her lips parted on the exhale, releasing some lingering lumps of tension within her. It was going to be a long night. Better to toughen up now while she still could.

"We have to get to Soo Lin Yao." Sherlock said as they descended the stairs.

"If she's still alive." John commented.

Just as they were nearing the last grouping of white steps, a familiar voice called out from across the way.

"Sherlock!"

It was Raz, the spray paint and vandalism enthusiast from earlier. He jogged towards them at admirable speed, baggy white hoody bouncing from his shoulders like a huge, cotton rabbit. The young man finally reached the group, panting slightly from the exertion.

"Found something you'll like."

Raz trotted off without another word and Sherlock immediately followed. Elise had to walk quickly to keep up with her father. John headed off after them a little more slowly.

Raz led the three of them across Hungerford Bridge, heading towards the south side of the river.

John was still peeved about the incident in the alley earlier that day. He spoke firmly towards Raz about the situation, the latter not seeming to care about it all. As a matter of fact, Raz seemed checked out, completely tuning out John like he was an annoying child in a supermarket. Elise couldn't help but chortle a bit. Sure John was a nice guy and all, but he could be a bit tetchy at times. Not necessarily in a bad way. Probably more comically than scary.

"Tuesday morning, all you've gotta do is turn up and say the bag was yours." He said gruffly.

Sherlock decided to put a stop to what might turn into the conversation that didn't end. "Forget about your court date."

They continued onwards in companionable silence, the only sound emitting from the patter of shoe soles against the ground. Shadows danced across the bridge, turning a simple piece of architecture into a black playground. Whenever two of the silhouettes crossed, the dominant one swallowed the smaller of the two, forming a big blob that eventually mixed with the other shadows until there was no separating them. Fascinating… and just a smidge creepy. Despite the desertion of the area, Elise couldn't help but feel like she was being watched. She tugged her collar up, sheltering her ears from the weather and the invisible eyes that clawed at her.

Would it ever end?


	13. The Blind Banker part 6

**The Blind Banker part 6**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock or the show's affiliates. Elise was created by a highly caffeinated me in the midst of sleep deprivation :P**

 **Happy reading!**

…

Raz led the other three across the under-croft. A boy has just done some kind of clever jump on his pushbike. Several of the spectators, in similar states of skater culture influenced clothing, cheered appreciatively. A chorus of "Dude that was rad!" and "Wicked!" were a popular term of praise. Elise raised her eyebrows, impressed though she didn't partake in such activities and had no knowledge in the subject. She knew that it must've taken a special set of skill to pull that off.

"If you want to hide a tree," Sherlock said as they walked, "then a forest is the best place to do it, wouldn't you say? People would just walk straight past, not knowing, unable to decipher the message."

The cement walls were filled with an array of colors; orange, blue, red, black purple. Raz pointed to a particular area on the heavily-graffiti walls. "There. I spotted it earlier."

 _Yellow. Bright yellow._

Amongst all the other paint there are slashes of the yellow paint forming Chinese symbols. Some of them are already partially painted over by other artists' tags and pictures but there was no doubt about what it was.

"They have been in here." He said to Raz. "And that's the exact same paint?"

"Yeah."

Sherlock's careful gaze traveled over the cipher, no doubt billions of thoughts swirling about his head. Elise bit her lip. They still had no idea as to what the code could possibly mean. Although it had barely been a day since they had taken the case, it was proving to be more troublesome than they had originally anticipated. Hopefully they would find a solution soon. Elise couldn't help when she went back to school the day after next. Not knowing would surely eat away at them all.

"If we're going to decipher this code, we're gonna need to look for more evidence." He turned to his remaining two associates, Raz having already left. "Elise, you come with me. John, I trust you can find your own way around, yes?" Without waiting for an answer, Sherlock peeled off in the opposite direction.

Elise shouted a quick goodbye to John, running after her father as quick as her exerted legs would carry her. The sharp air filled her lungs, adrenaline pumping through her veins. Wind whipped past her face, sending her ponytail whipping past her face. Elise thought it was a good feeling, despite her high level of fatigue. It made her feel strangely fresh, alive even. By the time she had caught up to Sherlock however, she was about ready to collapse. Her legs had turned to pure jelly and breathing was almost painful.

 _Not my best idea… oh well._

Sherlock walked along the end of a railway line, Elise following albeit at a much more sluggish pace. He finds an abandoned spray can on the tracks. Squatting down to pick it up, he puts the end of his flashlight into his mouth and runs a thumb over the yellow paint on the nozzle, then sniffs the nozzle experimentally.

Elise's labored breathing slowly began to regulate though her legs were still wobbly and weak. "Find anything important?" she asked.

Her father tossed the canister from one gloved hand to the other, seemingly weighing his possible responses. Then, true to his deductive nature, looked her up and down with practiced precision.

"Depends on your definition of important."

Elise crossed her arms over her chest and yawned. It was getting late. "Mine is probably the same as yours."

"Then no."

Sherlock sprung up and continued walking along the tracks, tossing the paint can off to the side. Elise huffed and hurried after him, kicking at the gravel under her boots. Soon, they were walking along another poster covered wall. Quite a few advertised shops and local bands that would be playing in the area while others depicted an assortment of services: Babysitting, housekeeping, car maintenance, take away, etc. It was like an unofficial business index for the people of London.

Elise was curiously skimming over a posting for a tutoring service when she heard the sound of ripping paper next to her. She turned her head in the direction of the noise. Sherlock was glancing over a ripped piece of white cardstock paper. "What's that?"

Sherlock gave the wall another once over. He shoved his gloved hands in the pocket of his coat, concealing the note. "Nothing."

"Doesn't look like nothing." Elise grilled. The detective rolled his eyes and spun on his heel, his belstaff whipping gracefully behind him. Still, he dodged the question. Elise narrowed her eyes but continued on anyway. Better not push him too far. Sherlock would have no reservations on sending her home if she annoyed him.

So Elise shut her mouth and continued kicking at the ground as they trekked on. Sherlock stopped them a few times so that he could look over their surroundings for clues, all times turning up empty. Elise tried her best to help, combing through the ground with her hands until the tips of her fingers were red with cold and her bandages had loosened, but also was unsuccessful. Elise dusted her hands off on her jeans as she stood, the bones in her knees cracking from her compromised position.

She wandered over to her father who was looking over the flank of a rail freight container.

"Find anything?" Sherlock asked.

"No," Elise puffed, "I'm not having any luck at all."

"Mm."

Elise turned around at the sound of approaching footsteps. A blurry blonde figure was dashing towards them, arms waving about, a small object in hand.

"John?" Elise shouted.

"Answer your phone!" He called back. "I've been calling you! I've found it."

He turns around again and the three of them run off into the night side by side, heavy breaths mixing together with the sound of pounding footsteps. John led Sherlock and Elise towards his findings, slowing down as they neared. It was a small clearing just past the railroad tracks, sparse patches of grass beneath their feet. Unlike the place that Raz had showed them, no one lurked in the area except them.

But as they stopped suddenly, Elise became confused as to what exactly she was supposed to be looking at.

Apparently, the super important thing worth getting excited about was a wall. A blank, black wall.

John's mouth dropped open. "It's been painted over."

Sherlock shines his flashlight around the area as John and Elise continued to stare at the wall in bemusement.

"I don't understand. It-it was here," he stumbled backwards. "Ten minutes ago. I saw it. A whole load of graffiti!"

Elise frowned. "How would someone paint over a whole wall in that short amount of time?"

Sherlock clicked off his flashlight. "Somebody doesn't want me to see it."

Elise shook her head. "This is so bizarre. How does someone just- DAD!"

Her father had taken John by the head, staring intently into his eyes. If she didn't know any better, she would think…

 _Eww no Elise. This is SHERLOCK we're talking about._

"Hey, Sherlock, what are you doing...?" John asked tensely.

"Sh, John, concentrate. I need you to concentrate. Close your eyes."

"No, what? Why? Why?"

Sherlock lowered his hands to hold John by the upper arms.

"What are you doing?!" Elise laughed.

Sherlock started spinning them slowly around on the spot, still looking seriously into John's eyes.

"I need you to maximize your visual memory, John." The consulting detective instructed. "Try to picture what you saw. Can you picture it?"

"Yeah…"

"Can you remember it?"

"Yes, definitely."

"Can you remember the pattern?"

"Yes!

"How much can you remember it?"

"Well, don't worry..." John started to say before Sherlock cut him off.

"Because the average human memory on visual matters is only sixty-two percent accurate."

"Yeah, well, don't worry – I remember all of it."

Sherlock stopped spinning them, an impressed frown tugging at his features. "Really?"

"Yeah, well at least I would," John wiggled out of his flat mate's iron grip. "If I can get to my pockets!"

A flicker of embarrassment flashed across Sherlock's face. Elise raised her eyebrows and walked with mock carefulness towards the two.

"You're not going to spin _me_ around, right?" Elise snorted.

Sherlock glared daggers at her but said nothing.

John cleared his throat and rummaged around in his pockets. A moment later, he pulled out his cell phone and pulled up an image.

"I took a photograph."

He tilted the screen so that the Holmes' could see. It was a slightly blurry flash photo, showcasing a very different wall than the one they currently stood in front of. This wall, while still dingy and dark, was flocked with a collection of similar Chinese symbols- each and every one the same shade of yellow as those before.

….

"Always in pairs." Sherlock said quietly. He had blown up the pictures of the wall and posted them on the mirror with the other clues. Now he studied them quietly, occasionally making comments to himself loud enough for his small audience to hear.

John is sitting at the dining table with his back to the fireplace and his head propped in his hands. Sherlock's voice wakes him up. He blinks and turns his head, squinting round at his friend.

"Hmm?"

"Numbers come with partners." Sherlock clarified.

John glanced around the flat blearily, his eyes glazed and movements slow. "God, I need to sleep."

"We all need to sleep." Elise moaned from the couch, a copy of _Emma_ by Jane Austen on her face, spine up.

Sherlock squinted at the pictures of the ciphers. Something still wasn't adding up. "Why did he paint it so near the tracks?"

"No idea." John answered tiredly.

"Maybe he has a weird fetish for railroad tracks." Elise commented drily.

"Thousands of people pass by there every day." The detective thought aloud, ignoring his daughter's sarcasm.

John propped his head against his fist. "Just twenty minutes."

Sherlock looked over all the facts he had gathered, sorting them out like a web of information in his head. He stepped back from the wall abruptly as all the strings wove together, giving him the answer he needed. "Of course."

John snapped his eyes open. Elise groaned and kicked her legs over the side of the couch, letting the book fall off and onto the cushions.

"Of course!" Sherlock continued, much louder this time. "He wants information. He's trying to communicate with his people in the underworld. Whatever was stolen, he wants it back. "He runs his finger over the symbols. "Somewhere here in the code." Sherlock pulls three photographs off the wall and turns towards the door. "We can't crack this without Soo Lin Yao."

"So we're leaving again?" Elise asked wearily. She picked up her phone off the coffee table, widening her eyes as they adjusted to the harsh glow. "It's past midnight."

"Oh good!" John said with a yawn. "Lovely.

"Come on."

…..

 **A/N: Not my longest but I wanted to get this up. Sorry for my lateness. I haven't been in my right mind lately. This story will only be updated on weekends from now on due to conflicts with my schoolwork and things like that. Hope that's okay….**

 **R and R please!**


	14. The Blind Baker pt7

**The Blind Banker part 7**

 **Author's Note: I'm back! My old laptop broke so I was unable to write for quite a bit. However, courtesy of Christmas, I now have a new one! Back to regular updates- or as regular as my procrastination will allow.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock or the show's affiliates. Elise was created by a highly caffeinated me in the midst of sleep deprivation: P**

 **Happy Reading and Happy Holidays!**

 **~TheCurlyGal6218**

…

The group soon made their way back to the display room in the museum. Andy, the worker they had met earlier, was still there. Sherlock wasted no time with pleasantries. "Two men who travelled back from China were murdered, and their killer left them messages in the Hangzhou numerals."

Elise felt her body sway. She tilted over slightly, nearly careening right into John. Luckily, the army doctor caught her before she completely lost her balance. He gave her a concerned look, melding together with slight amusement. Elise's cheeks reddened.

"Sorry."

John waved her off with a yawn. "Soo Lin Yao's in danger." He said to the detective and the museum employee. "Now, that cipher – it was the same pattern as the others. He means to kill her as well."

Elise glanced around the spacious room. She realized quickly that she didn't have anything to offer this conversation. On top of that, she was still a bit sour at her father for dragging her out past midnight. This was the latest she had ever been out on a case. While she appreciated him not leaving her out and as much as she did like solving cases with him and John, sleep was a treasure. Especially for someone who was permanently exhausted like her. Despite this, she might as well look for clues.

As she continued her lazy survey of the room, she couldn't help but notice a grand case of beautifully crafted teapots. Elise drifted slowly away from the group.

Andy shrugged helplessly. "Look, I've tried everywhere: um, friends, colleagues. I-I don't know where she's gone. I mean, she could be a thousand miles away."

Sherlock stomped in exasperation. Talk about a huge setback. He turned to his left, expecting to see his daughter by his side, only to find that she wasn't there; she was examining something in a case a few meters back.

"Elise, what are you doing?" Sherlock scrubbed a hand down his face. Now wasn't the time to be admiring artifacts.

She snapped her head up at her name, removing her hand from the ancient clay. "I was looking at these."

"Looking at wha- " He trailed off as he saw what his daughter was so fascinated with. His lips quirked up in a small smile. Leave it to her to unintentionally find a lead in a seemingly dead end. He walked over slowly, one gloved hand extended in a point. "Clearly you weren't looking hard enough. Not observing." He slowly bent down, carefully examining the display. "Tell me more about those teapots." He said to Andy.

"Th-the pots were her obsession." Andy stuttered. "Um, they need urgent work. If-if they dry out, then the clay can start to crumble. Apparently you have to just keep making tea in them."

Elise frowned. She had never heard of such methods but supposed it made sense. However, there was still something a bit off. She pointed to the two pots on the shelf. "But if they need to be tended to and Soo Lin is gone, how are they still shining? Who could've possibly-."

The room fell silent as the realization dawned on everyone.

"Bingo." Sherlock whispered. "Yesterday only one of those pots was shining. Now there are two."

Andy agreed to let the group hide out in the museum restoration room until the person of interest arrived, so long as they were quiet and didn't break anything. Elise found herself in a rather uncomfortable position. She was wedged between Sherlock and John, the former sitting stoically up straight while the other slouched against the wall, eyes half closed. They had to be quiet, stealthy, or else they would scare her away. John snoring wouldn't help matters. Elise prodded him in the shoulder until his eyes snapped open, bleary and struggling to focus.

"Keep alert." Elise whispered softly. "She could get here any minute."

John sighed and rubbed at his eyes. "What time is it?"

Sherlock pulled out his phone. He had dimmed the screen's brightness substantially so that the light wouldn't give them away. Clever as always. Elise herself had out her own on silent. A simple precaution. "It's a quarter past two."

"It's late." Elise groaned. She buried her head into John's shoulder momentarily. "We should all be asleep."

"Please don't mention sleep." John said wearily. "It makes me even more tired."

"Oh quit your whining!" Sherlock snapped. "I believe that whatever is about to happen is much more important than that."

Elise snickered. "Easy for you to say. You can go days without rest. Some people actually need a couple hours to function like a normal human."

"Well my mind is more advanced. Now shut up. I need quiet."

Ten minutes went by. Then twenty. Thirty. An hour. Finally, after quite a bit of restless shuffling from all, footsteps echoed through the dark and strangely eerie room.

Elise watched as a shadowy figure emerged, illuminated only by the lights on the far side from their hiding place. The newcomer walked over to the display, got out the pots, and poured tea over the parched, cracking clay of the antique teapots. It was no other than Soo Lin- Yao, the woman they were looking for. She continued her expert work on the pots, oblivious to the trio lurking in the shadows of the room. Sherlock stood up slowly just as Ms. Yao was distributing the tea into two steaming cups.

"Fancy a biscuit with that?"

The woman gasped as she turned towards him, the teapot dropping from her shaking fingers. Sherlock reacted instantly and bent his knees to reach down and catch the teapot before it hit the floor. Success. He looked up at her.

"Centuries old. Don't wanna break that."

Sherlock slowly straightened up and handed the teapot back to Soo Lin. She took it and set it back down, flicking the lights under the table on as she did so. John and Elise emerged from the shadows, bones cracking back into place as they were freed from the confinement. John sat at one end of the table, Soo Lin at the other. Sherlock and Elise stood together at the head of the table.

"You saw the cipher." Ms. Yao finally spoke. "Then you know he is coming for me."

Sherlock tried to smile comfortingly. Well, as comfortingly as the consulting detective could manage. "You've been clever to avoid him so far."

"I had to finish ... to finish this work. It's only a matter of time. I know he will find me."

"Who is he? Have you met him before?"

She nodded. "When I was a girl, living back in China. I recognize his ... 'signature.'"

"The cipher."

"Only he would do this. Zhi Zhu."

"Zu Zu?" Elise questioned.

"Zhi Zhu," Sherlock corrected. "The Spider."

Soo Lin crossed her right leg over her left one. Then, she pulled off her shoe, extending her foot for them to see. "You know this mark?"

"Yes." Sherlock confirmed. "It's the mark of a Tong."

"Those are the people behind this right?" Elise asked.

"Precisely. Ancient crime syndicate based in China."

"Every foot soldier bears the mark; everyone who hauls for them." The oriental woman continued.

"Hauls?" John spluttered. "Y-you mean you were a smuggler?"

She lowered her gaze in shame and put her shoe back on. "I was fifteen. My parents were dead. I had no livelihood; no way of surviving day to day except to work for the bosses. They are called the Black Lotus. By the time I was sixteen, I was taking thousands of pounds' worth of drugs across the border into Hong Kong. But I managed to leave that life behind me. I came to England. They gave me a job here. Everything was good; a new life."

Elise was shocked. Never would she have expected this woman to have such a sad, bleak history. While it was obvious from the start that Soo Lin had some affiliation with The Black Lotus, never could Elise have made such grand deductions about Ms. Yao's childhood and what had brought her into the mix in the first place. "And… so now he's back. The-"

"Yes." She swallowed tearfully. Elise felt her heart breaking. The whole situation was just so terrible. By the look on John's face, he felt the same way. "I had hoped after five years maybe they would have forgotten me, but they never really let you leave. A small community like ours – they are never very far away."

She wiped tears from her face. "He came to my flat. He asked me to help him to track down something that was stolen."

John spoke up kindly. "And you've no idea what it was?"

"I refused to help."

John leaned forward towards the silently weeping Ms. Yao. "So you knew him well when you were living back in China?"

"Oh yes." A pause. "He's my brother."

The color drained from Elise's face. "Oh. My. God." Her sibling, flesh and blood, was coming after her with his smuggling ring. Not a happy family reunion at all.

"Two orphans. We had no choice. We could work for the Black Lotus, or starve on the streets like beggars. My brother has become their puppet, in the power of the one they call Shan – the Black Lotus general. I turned my brother away. He said I had betrayed him. Next day I came to work and the cipher was waiting."

Sherlock laid the photographs they had taken on the table. "Can you decipher these?"

Soo Lin leaned forward and studied the picture of Sir Williams' portrait for a moment. She pointed to the markings across the man's face. "These are numbers."

"Yes, I know."

Soo Lin pointed to another photo. "Here: the line across the man's eyes – it's the Chinese number one."

Sherlock pointed to another marking. "And this one is fifteen. But what's the code?"

Soo Lin looked up. "All the smugglers know it. It's based upon a book..."

Just then almost all the lights go out. Elise was alert immediately, blue eyes widening. She didn't dare move from Sherlock's side, instinctively inching closer to him as the quiet grew. John stared at them from across the room, in a similar state of fear as everyone else.

All the color had drained from Soo Lin's face. "He's here." She whispered shakily. "Zhi Zhu. He has found me."

And Sherlock was off, racing across the room, his coat like a trail of lightning behind him. Elise felt his absence almost immediately.

"Dad!" She whispers shouted. Sherlock charged out of the room. Elise made to follow him but a hand clamped down firmly on her arm, ceasing her movements.

"Come here." John hissed.

"I have to go after him!"

"No you have to be safe. You shouldn't have come anyway. I don't know why he would let you. Whether it's for experience or not, it's too dangerous"

"I-."

Gunfire. Two shots. Dread filled Elise's stomach like pure lead.

She turned back to John, tears threatening to spill. "John, what if he's hurt?"

John shoved Elise and Soo Lin inside a cupboard. "I have to go and help. Bolt the door after me. Don't do anything stupid, please." He hurried off, leaving the two ladies behind.

Elise focused on breathing, not on the tiny closet she was trapped in. Or the gunshots that continued to penetrate the air. Or the fact that Soo Lin was hopelessly crying beside her. She should've been comforting to the older woman, but she couldn't find words. They stuck to her sandpaper throat like molasses, refusing to form and release. Instead, Soo Lin looked to the younger girl, a tearful half smile on her face.

"Everything will be okay. Do you believe me?"

Elise didn't look her in the eye.

"Your father and that man… they will fix everything little one."

Elise let out a shaky breath. Then she finally looked up at Ms. Yao, chocolate eyes melding with the iciness of her own. "I sure hope so."

Soo Lin closed her eyes. Then, slowly and carefully, she inched her way out of the cupboard.

Elise grabbed her arm in alarm. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I'm going to finish deciphering the code."

Elise looked at her like she was insane. Perhaps she was. "Can't it wait?"

Soo Lin shook her head. "Stay here. It'll be fine. The shots were coming from downstairs so he won't be up here"

Elise watched in horror as Soo Lin inched out of their makeshift hiding place and into the danger of outside. There wasn't much she could do to stop her. If she tried, she would probably do more harm than good by making a ruckus. Instead, she waited a few moments before following the woman out of the cupboard. If Soo Lin was endangering her life for the cause, the least Elise could do was try and offer some assistance. No matter how close she was to fainting. She walked on hunter's feet, doing her very best to keep the noise of her footsteps as quiet as possible. Her heart was beating like a kick drum in her chest, each breath was painful and shuddering. In the horror movies, this was usually the part where the supernatural villain slayed the bumbling main characters bloodily and with no remorse. Elise realized, in that moment, that she was a bumbling main character.

The only difference was that this wasn't a fictional horror flick. This was her real life. Perhaps the true horror was that she was used to this.

Elise stopped walking when she heard voices. Through the dim, she could barely make out two figures.

Soo Lin was one. She could tell by the hair.

But Sherlock wasn't.

And neither was John.

 _Oh. God. That means…_

There was a gunshot. Soo Lin fell to the ground.

It took all Elise's strength not to run. Running, usually would help her in these situations, but not now. Not when the only place to run was straight into the line of fire. The path of a _real_ gun. Not a fake like last time.

 _Keep calm._

 _Breathe deep._

 _Don't move. Move and you_ _ **will**_ _die._

 _Oh my God._

Elise watched frozen, not daring to move a muscle, as the second figure placed something in the palm of Soo Lin's splayed out hand. Her _lifeless_ hand. Then, with a final glance, he sped away into the dark.

And Elise stood there. She didn't panic. She didn't cry. She didn't gasp for air.

She was frozen in terror. Shock. A cocktail of emotions stirred throughout her body like a burst of Novocain, numbing her to the core.

Another one dead.

Yet another life lost.

Elise heard more footsteps coming towards her. The dull yet distinct sound jolted her back to life, tore her gaze away from the motionless body. She felt herself moving forward on autopilot until strong arms wrapped around her shoulders. Stopping her from moving any further.

 _Dad. Safety. Warmth._

"Elise." He said firmly. "Are you alright?"

Elise looked up into his eyes.

"She's dead."

A pause.

"I'm aware."

"He…"

Elise stole a glance at Soo Lin. There was an origami flower in her hand.

Another pause

"Black Lotus." Elise whispered

"Yes."

"How many murders is it going to take before you start believing that this maniac's out there?"

The trio stood in front of DI Dimmock. Sherlock seemed unfazed by the prior events at the museum, only increasingly annoyed as more idiots were thrown in his way. Elise had only recovered from her shock slightly. After all, witnessing a cold blooded murder didn't do wonders for her mental health. As for John, most of his weariness had vanished, replaced with white hot anger at the injustice.

"A young girl was gunned down tonight. That's three victims in three days. You're supposed to be finding him."

Sherlock walked in front of John to get closer to Dimmock. John stepped back and walked a few paces away in exasperation.

"Brian Lukis and Eddie Van Coon were working for a gang of international smugglers – a gang called the Black Lotus operating here in London right under your nose." Sherlock chastised. He leaned closer to Dimmock to emphasize his last point. Dimmock finally looked round to him.

"Can you prove that?"

Sherlock, true to his nature, managed to sweet talk Molly Hooper into letting them use the bodies of the first two victims as evidence. The group took the lift up to the labs at Bart's, one of the most awkward rides of her life. She again found herself in a highly uncomfortable position, stuck between the DI and the glass wall. It was a wonder she stopped herself from saying anything that would make Mycroft chastise her for bad manners. Thankfully, her pain was short lived as they reached the correct floor rather quickly.

Elise had become quite familiar with Molly's laboratory. When she was younger, she would wait in here with the mousy little pathologist while her father experimented in some of the other rooms. On the days she did paperwork, Molly would set little Elise up in a chair near her with crayons and blank paper from the printer. They would work, side by side, until her father came to collect her. As she got older, she would usually bring a book or her homework from school to keep her occupied. Even now that she was mature enough to watch herself, Elise would still pop in when she came in with Sherlock. Molly was amazing.

It was a shame that her father took advantage of her so often.

The pathologist set down the two body bags on adjacent tables. Then, wearing latex gloves, she unzipped the top of one of the bags and pulled the sides apart to reveal the face of Brian Lukis.

"We're just interested in the feet." Sherlock explained.

Molly frowned. "The feet?"

"Yes. D'you mind if we have a look at them?"

"It may seem like an odd request but I assure you it's important." Elise piped up. She remembered the marking on her foot Soo Lin had shown them earlier. If these two men were a part of The Black Lotus, it was reasonable to think that they would have similar markings on them.

With a winning smile thrown in the pathologist's direction, Sherlock led Dimmock to the other end of the body bag. Molly followed him, blushing slightly at the attention. She unzipped the bag at that end, pulling the sides back to reveal the bottom of Lukis' feet. Sure enough, on the bottom of the right heel was a tattoo identical to the one which Soo Lin revealed earlier. Sherlock straightened up, a smug expression on his face, and walks over to the other table.

"Now Van Coon."

Molly and Dimmock followed him to the second table and she unzipped the other body bag. Van Coon too had the mark on his right heel.

Elise couldn't help but feel a surge of satisfaction. _Finally, this idiot will listen to us! "_ Wow. You can really smell the awkward. Is that a new cologne Detective Inspector?"

Dimmock shuffled his feet. "So..."

The consulting detective rolled his eyes. "So either these two men just happened to visit the same Chinese tattoo parlor or I'm telling the truth."

"What do you want?"

"I want every book from Lukis' apartment and Van Coon's."

Elise perked up.

"Their books?"

It was almost five in the morning. Elise was about ready to collapse. The only thing keeping her awake was the promise of books. Beautiful, lovely books. And the quick power nap she had taken in the cab home.

As soon as they got to 221b, Elise headed straight for the kitchen. She set a pot of water to boil for coffee, making sure they weren't out before she got to excited. If she planned on keeping up with the boys, she would need all the stimulant she could get.

When the brew was done, she plopped a spoonful of sugar in her blue mug and took a slow sip. Her mouth pulled into a grimace. Black coffee was god awful, but the strength would definitely do the trick. She started making another cup for John, opting not to prepare one for her father as he probably wouldn't take. He claimed digestion slowed him down.

When she turned around to head back into the living room, she nearly jumped out of her skin. Her father had miraculously appeared at the dining room table, tapping furiously into his laptop. Or was it John's? Whatever the case, she hadn't expected him.

"I didn't even hear you come in." Elise said with a relieved breath. "You scared the living daylights out of me."

Sherlock didn't respond for a minute, still tapping into the computer. "I tend to have that effect on people." He finally said.

"I'll say."

Elise sat down across from her dad, setting her cup down on the table beside her. She took a sip of the piping hot liquid, feeling tiny pinpricks of pain dash across her tongue as the terrible taste washed over her. Elise longed for her syrup sweet coffee she usually made, the kind that diabetics would line up around the corner for.

"Why are you drinking that if you clearly hate it?" Sherlock asked out of nowhere.

Elise looked up in surprise. "I'm trying to stay awake. This is liquid crap without my usual fix ins but it does the trick."

He looked up from the screen, eyebrows raised. "If you're tired you realize that you don't have to come right? I think it's safe to say that you've had enough experience for the weekend."

Elise thought about all that had happened since Sherlock took on this case. Three dead bodies, a murder, several panic attacks, fear for her own life and the lives of John and Sherlock. Even with all that, she was still deeply interested in continuing. For her, solving cases was like reading a story. She needed to see how each would end. Otherwise, she would be left with dissatisfaction and a ton of pointless terrible memories.

"I think I'll stick around. I can catch up on sleep later and school isn't until tomorrow."

The elder Holmes looked at his daughter. Elise could tell he was making deductions by the way his eyes moved over her, the blue irises much like her own shifting from side to side. "Suit yourself." He turned back to his work.

Not long afterwards, the detective made a breakthrough. His head shot up, curls bouncing over his forehead. "Come look." He beckoned his daughter over to him. Elise sprang up from her seat, abandoning her drink as she went to go see what the fuss was about. Sherlock was looking on Crispians' website for recent auctions, focusing on the auctions of Chinese and other Asian works of art.

"Check for the dates..." he murmured as he skimmed through a load of search results.

"It would have to be very recent." Elise said as she scanned the page. "Definitely sometime this week."

"Just here." He pointed to a particular auction lot – two Chinese Ming vases. "Arrived from China four days ago. John, come look at this!"

The short blonde veteran bumbled into the room, looking as tired as ever. His hair was mussed, his jumper slightly wrinkled.

"What is it." He walked over to the two, picking up the mug Elise had forgotten to give him earlier. "This for me?"

"Yeah. Sorry I forgot about it." She said sheepishly.

"No worries. Thanks. Now what are you jabbering on about?"

Sherlock gestured him over. John crouched down to see the screen, squinting as he focused.

Sherlock ran his finger down the details and looks at the Sale Information at the bottom which includes the statement "Source - Anonymous. Vendor doesn't give his name. Two undiscovered treasures from the East."

"Arrived only four days ago." Elise added. "It's them."

The pieces clicked together in John's mind. "One in Lukis' suitcase and one in Van Coon's."

Sherlock moved to the Quest search site and typed into the search bar, narrating as he does so. "... antiquities sold at auction." The results list was up in a flash. "Look, here's another one. Arrived from China a month ago: Chinese ceramic statue, sold four hundred thousand."

John consulted Lukis' diary at that new revelation. He turned to a dog eared page. "Ah, look: a month before that – a Chinese painting, half a million."

"All of them are anonymous." Elise chimed in. "They aren't revealing their identities to keep The Black Lotus from being exposed. They're stealing them in China then selling them here."

John looked at Lukis' diary again and then at the printout of Van Coon's calendar. "And every single auction coincides with Lukis or Van Coon travelling to China."

Sherlock continued scrolling. "So what if one of them got greedy when they were in China? What if one of them stole something?"

"That's why Zhi Zhu's come."

"He wants revenge."

There was a knock on the living room door. "Ooo- Ooo!" Mrs. Hudson.

The group turned to look at her.

"Sorry. Are we collecting for charity, Sherlock?"

"What?" Sherlock asked puzzled.

"A young man's outside with crates of books."

Shortly afterwards, two uniformed police officers were carrying in yet another plastic crate to add to the many which have already been dumped. The living room could now easily pass as a storing facility.

Elise perched on one of the large boxes by the couch. "So, the numbers are references."

John leaned against another. "To books."

Sherlock nodded. "To specific pages and specific words on those pages."

"Right, so ... fifteen and one: that means..."

"Turn to page fifteen and it's the first word you read."

"So what book is it?" Elise asked.

Sherlock scoffed. "Well that's the cunning of the book code daughter dearest. Has to be one that they both owned."

Elise groaned. "So we have to look through all of these? That's going to take centuries."

Sherlock walked over to one of the humongous crates. He flipped open the lid and started pulling some out. "Better get working then."

Elise sighed and stood up. She looked around despairingly at the many, many crates in the room, each either labelled "Van Coon" or "Lukis." They had a lot of work ahead of them. She went over to the nearest crate and flipped open the lid, sighing tiredly when he sees the amount of books inside. She scooped up as much as she could carry, then brought the load over to the nearest couch.

John opened another crate and started taking out books, looking at the cover of each one. John takes a handful from his crate and carries them over to the dining table and sits down.

Dimmock walked in, in all his glory, and held up an evidence bag to Sherlock. "We found these, at the museum." He showed the bag to John. It contained the photographs of the cipher which Sherlock had been showing to Soo Lin. "Is this your writing?"

John took the bag. "Uh, we hoped Soo Lin could decipher it for us. Ta."

Dimmock nodded and turned back to Sherlock, who was still unloading his crate. "Anything else I can do? To assist you, I mean?"

Sherlock didn't look up. "Some silence right now would be marvelous."

Dimmock stared at him, bewildered, then looked across to John, who shook his head apologetically. Then Dimmock turned to Elise. "Farewell little Holmes."

Elise took a deep breath. _Don't punch him. You'll go to jail._

Elise continued to rummage.

 _4 hours later_

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. All three of them had found books that the two men both owned but none of the matches gave any clue for the case. They had again reached another dead end.

Elise slammed another book closed. She looked around. There were piles of books everywhere. Paperbacks, hardbacks, magazines; you name it. It was like a library had eaten too much and then promptly regurgitated the excess into 221b. John was sat at the dining room table with his head in his hands. Elise's father was stood up, not any less tired than he was when they started. Just plain annoyed.

Elise herself could do with a 2-year nap.

"Well," she began. "I'm exhausted. I don't know about you two but I think I'll take a rest.

She stood up from her spot on the sofa and headed to the stairs. The teenager couldn't remember the last time she was this exhausted. Her bed would be as good as heaven right now. When she got to her room, she clawed her hair out of its ponytail and shook out the messy black curls. Then she flopped onto her bed to sleep.

 _Buzz. Buzz_

Elise groaned and turned over.

 _Buzz._

She pulled the pillow over her head.

 _Buzz. Buzz. Buzzzzzz_

"What the hell?" Elise whined. "Just when I'm about to sleep someone decides it would be a great time to chat!" She grabbed the phone from her pocket and pressed the answer button without looking. "Hello? What is it?"

" _Hey it's me."_

Elise closed her eyes, trying to squash some of her irritation.

"Oh. Hi Leo. Look, now really isn't a good time."

" _Oh ok. Umm… I just needed to ask you something…"_

"Alright. Fine. I'm listening." _So much for sleep._

" _Can you meet me at the park later today? Around 7?"_

" _Well, I'm kind of busy helping my dad but… Sure, I guess. I can try."_

" _Perfect."_

"Why can't you just tell me over the-."

 _Click._

Elise sighed and flopped back on the bed. She had a feeling that she would regret that decision. That boy was getting weirder by the day…

"Elise. Get up!"

The teen woke up to someone shaking her shoulder. Through bleary eyes, she looked up to see what all the fuss was about. It was Mrs. Hudson.

"What is it?"

The old woman straightened up. "You've been sleeping all day! That father of yours better stop working you so hard. Anyhow, I came to tell you that some little boy is at the door for you. He says that you two had plans but you never turned up."

Elise sat up in the bed, her hair sticking up in all directions. "Plans? Who could possibly…Oh no."

"What is it dearie?"

Elise shook her head. "It's nothing Mrs. Hudson. Just a friend from school. I'll take care of it."

The landlady gave her a worried look. "Alright then. Just shout if he gives you any trouble. He seems a bit off that one."

Elise laughed. "Yeah."

Mrs. Hudson left the room with a last smile, shutting the door behind her. Elise sighed tiredly. Although she felt a bit bad about forgetting Leo, she didn't see why he had to come to her house. It was bordering on stalking. How did he even get her address anyway? Most likely Christina but you never knew.

Elise smoothed her haywire curls down and wiped the sleep out of her eyes. It was time to do some damage control. She padded down the stairs, still wearing her same clothes from yesterday, feeling much more refreshed than she had this morning.

When she got to the living room, Leo was crouched in front of the guinea pig cage. He was fiddling with the latch, trying to get it open and failing miserably. Gizmo cowered in the corner, absolutely terrified of the boy. Elise raised an eyebrow and leaned against the doorframe. "He doesn't like new people much."

Leo stood up quickly at her voice, almost seeming embarrassed. He cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck. "Yeah…um."

The furry fiend started squeaking at the sound of his real owner's voice. Elise walked over to the cage and opened the latch, petting the black and white animal. She noticed that his bowl was empty and his water bottle was murky with little bits of filth. It needed to be cleaned.

Elise closed the cage door again. She unhooked the water bottle with a grimace. "Come with me to the kitchen." Elise said to Leo.

He nodded and the pair set off to the kitchen, Leo sitting down in one of the dining room chairs. Elise walked over to the sink, opening the top of the bottle and filling it with water and soap. The two continued in awkward silence, running water and Gizmo's squeaking being the only sounds in the flat. Finally, Leo broke the silence.

"You blew me off."

Elise continued washing, keeping her face neutral. Guilt stirred in the depths of her stomach. "I was asleep. Lost track of time."

"Yeah. Ok fine."

Elise snickered. "Sorry. What was so important anyway?"

Leo shrugged. "Nothing really."

Elise stopped momentarily. She put down her washcloth. "Then why the hell did you come to my house." She laughed. "I didn't even give you my address!"

Leo's face flushed. "Ok… if I'm being real honest…"

Elise raised her eyebrow. "What?"

"I was wondering if you would like to be my girlfriend."

 _Oh. Oh no. Bloody hell._

"Um… wow." Elise stammered. She could feel her face heating. "You see; the thing is…"

 _How the fuck am I supposed to say no without being mean? I don't want to kill him or anything. Why isn't there some type of guide explaining how to do this? Where is dad when you need him? Now would be a great time for him to whisk me away for a case._

"Um…"

 _Speed it up Holmes!_

I'm sure you're a very nice guy but, I just don't like you like that."

"Oh."

"I'm so sorry."

Leo looked absolutely crestfallen. As a matter of fact, he looked almost… angry? The veins in his neck protruded angrily through his deeply tan skin. His jaw clenched and his eyes crackled with a raging fire. If looks could kill, Elise would be harshly dismembered and stuffed into trash bags.

 _Oh my lord he's fucking pissed. Good going dummy._

"I'm just gonna go then. Have a nice day Holmes." And with that he stormed out of the flat.

 _What the actual fuck just happened?_

Elise stood for a couple seconds, too shocked by Leo's actions to get her brain functioning normally. The weirdness in science class, the awkward run in and hug at the library, the phone calls and texts; he had a crush on her. Leo Henrik, a boy she had barely met, had a crush on her. And she didn't feel the same. She most definitely did _not_ feel the same and she felt bad. Extremely bad. As a matter of fact, she felt sick. Really sick. And why did she feel sick? Because he hadn't been sad when she rejected him. He was _livid._ If she had learned anything from working with Sherlock, it was that livid and love do not mix. Elise had a sinking suspicion that this wasn't over.

 _Oh my god._

She heard the front door slam closed.

Once, she had gotten over the initial shock, she realized too late that she had left the tap water running. The sink was now filling with water, clogged up by the washcloth she had carelessly set down. Elise quickly shut off the tap and unplugged the drain. That could've been messy. She picked up her cloth again only to find little stains of red scattered across the surface. Blood. Elise looked down at her hands. Apparently she had been picking without even realizing.

"Damn."

Ten minutes and several bandages later, Elise was sat on her bed. She needed answers and there were only two people who could give her some. One was definitely not an option. The second just might work.

 _New message to contact: Christina_

 _Hey I need to ask you something- EH_

 _Ask away- CB_

 _So… Leo just asked me out- EH_

 _OMFG -CB_

 _DID YOU SAY YESSSSS?- CB_

 _YOU BETTER HAVE SAID YES- CB_

 _I said no. -EH_

… _\- CB_

 _Ur fucking kidding me right- CB_

 _No I'm not. I don't like him like that. – EH_

 _It was so weird though. He got all pissed and stormed out. -EH_

 _Wait… he went to ur house? -CB_

 _Wtf- CB_

 _That's a bit creepy- CB_

 _Yeah. I was supposed to meet him at the park but I was asleep and forgot so he came to my house. -EH_

 _Did you give him my address? -EH_

 _No…- CB_

 _Oh- EH_

Elise's stomach dropped. If Christina didn't give him the address, then who did?

 _Ok I'll tell you the rest later. Someone just got here_ _ **-**_ _EH_

 _Ok loser XD Bye. Don't get murdered- CB_

Elise didn't feel any better after that conversation. As a matter of fact, she felt even more unsettled by the whole thing. Why was her life so strange?

Just then, her father busted into her room- without knocking of course.

"Come on. New developments."

Elise brushed the Leo situation to the side. She would have to worry about that later.

"Where are we going?"

Sherlock tossed her a pair of gloves. She started pulling them on over her banged up hands.

"A circus. Get your coat."

Sherlock and Elise were walking up a slope towards a building. The London night was experiencing fairly decent weather. It wasn't too cold, just chilly enough to make her nose and cheeks turn a bit pink. Not many people were on this part of town surprisingly. It was rather odd being that it was hardly past seven. Elise at least expected to see some shoppers scurrying home from the stores or some older kids loitering in the alleyways.

"So we're crashing John's date because you think that The Black Lotus is running this circus?"

Her father adjusted his scarf around his neck. "I don't think that they're running it. I know for a fact that they are."

"And how's that?"

"I found a ticket for the show in one of the books. Isn't it a bit odd that the two men who were killed had a copy of a Chinese circus ticket held only a few days after they were murdered? Bit too much of a coincidence."

Elise nodded. "Fair enough. I still feel bad about intruding on his date though. He deserves to have some time for himself."

Sherlock looked down to his daughter. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Elise shrugged. "You can be a bit demanding at times dad. Sometimes people need a break."

The consulting detective frowned. "He is under no obligation to accompany me on cases. And neither are you. Both of you could easily decline if you don't feel up for it."

"I didn't mean that we don't _want_ to come." Elise explained quickly. "I love cases, even if they do scare me. I was just saying that… sometimes a little time away is good. That's all."

"Hmm." Sherlock grunted.

Elise sighed. "It's not a bad thing."

When they got closer to the building, Elise saw a string of red lanterns hung around the outside. Black Chinese lettering adorned each individual one. A few people walked inside the building, murmuring in excitement at the show they were about to see. When she and Sherlock got inside, there were even more lanterns, smaller ones strung from the hallway's ceiling. They illuminated the place magnificently, putting beauty in an otherwise tense situation. It was too bad that this was the work of murderous smugglers. She would've appreciated it more.

As she and her father approached the box office, Elise spotted John and a pretty brunette woman standing at the counter.

John was talking to the man at the window. "No, I don't think so. We only booked two."

"And then I phoned back and got two for Elise and I." Sherlock chimed in.

John looked up in disbelief and turned as Sherlock walked over to them, looking at John's date. He offered her his hand.

"I'm Sherlock."

"And I'm Elise. His daughter. Hello." Elise said awkwardly.

The woman glanced at John momentarily, then turned back to the new arrivals. She took the offered hand and shook it nervously.

"Er, hi. My name's Sarah."

"Hello." He gave her a fake smile and then promptly walked away.

Elise followed after mouthing a hurried sorry in John's direction.

Not long afterwards, Elise and the boys were standing a few steps up the stairs while people made their way past them. Sarah had run off to use the facilities. Sherlock and John were having a bit of an argument and Elise was growing weary of it.

"You couldn't let me have just one night off?" John hissed

"See dad? I told you. People need a break sometime."

"Well excuse me daughter dearest but Yellow Dragon Circus, in London for one day. It fits. The Tong sent an assassin to England ..."

"…dressed as a tightrope walker." John scoffed. "Come on, Sherlock, behave!"

Sherlock did anything but. "We're looking for a killer who can climb, who can shin up a rope. Where else would you find that level of dexterity? Exit visas are scarce in China. They need a pretty good reason to get out of that country. Now, all I need to do is have a quick look round the place ..."

"Fine. You do that; I'm gonna take Sarah for a pint."

"I need your help!"

"You have Elise! She's just as good as you are…"

"Not nearly." Sherlock interrupted.

"Oi!" Elise protested

"Well she's better than me and I do have a couple of other things on my mind this evening!"

"Like what?"

John stared at him in disbelief. "You are kidding." Then he turned to the younger Holmes. "He is kidding, right?"

Elise sucked in a breath. "He's skilled in many things. This area is not one of them."

John furrowed his eyebrows. "How did he end up with you then?"

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "It wasn't planned if that's what you're asking…"

Elise shuddered. "Ew no. Please, stop before I puke. That is _not_ something I want to be thinking about!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. Then he turned back to John, who was trying and failing to not lose his patience. "What's so important?"

"Sherlock, I'm right in the middle of a date. D'you want me to chase some killer while I'm trying to ..." he stopped for a moment.

"What?"

John finally snapped. "While I'm trying to get off with Sarah!"

And right on cue, Sarah came around the corner at that moment. John turned to her and smiled awkwardly, as if he hadn't said the most embarrassing thing he could have possibly said in front of her.

"Hey."

Sherlock rolled his eyes yet again and the group headed up the stairs, John internally kicking himself and Elise desperately trying not to burst in a fit of giggles

In the performance area, there was a stage on one side of the large hall with the curtains closed. However, it seemed that the stage wasn't going to be used: a circle of candles was laid out in the middle of the floor, about thirty feet in diameter. The room was dimly lit. The patrons were gathering around the circle of candles as there were no seats provided. Apparently the number of tickets was limited, allowing there to be room for everyone to have a clear view. Sarah and John stood side by side, Elise talking post on John's left. Sherlock stood a few feet back, looking all around the room and peering up to the ceiling. John spoke quietly over his shoulder to his flat mate, turning his head away from Sarah so that she couldn't hear.

"You said circus. This is not a circus. Look at the size of this crowd. Sherlock, this is ..." he grimaced in disgust. "... art."

Elise nudged the former soldier in the arm. "There's nothing wrong with art. Even if it is produced by criminals."

"No, sorry, I forgot." John sniffed without humor. "They're not a circus; they're a gang of international smugglers!"

The performance began with someone tapping out a rhythm on a tiny hand drum. Sherlock turned to face the same way as his companions. An ornately costumed Chinese woman with a heavily painted face – traditionally known as the Opera Singer – walked into the center of the circle and looked imperiously out at the audience before raising a hand in the air. The drummer finished his riff. The Opera Singer walked across the circle to a large object covered with a cloth. She pulled the sheet back to reveal an antique-looking crossbow on a stand. She picked up a long, thick wooden arrow with white feathers at one end and a vicious metal point at the other and showed it to the audience before fitting it into place in the crossbow.

Straightening up, she pulled a single small white feather from her headdress and again, lifted it to the audience. On the rear of the crossbow, there was a tiny metal cup. The opera singer dropped the feather into the cup and quick as a flash, the arrow released.

Elise whipped her head around, watching as the arrow whipped past her line of vision and into a painted board on the other end of the room. She let out a breath of relief.

The audience roared with applause.

Instrumental music began as a new character entered the circle, wearing chainmail and an ornate head mask. Two men led him over to a slab of wood, embedded with tiny scuff marks. The heavily costumed man put his arms stiffly to his sides. Then, the other two brutes started securing him against the board with chains and thick strips of leather.

"Classic Chinese escapology act." Elise heard her father say from behind.

All three of them turned around.

"What?"

"The crossbow is on a delicate string." Sherlock explained. "The warrior has to escape his bonds before it fires."

Elise's eyes widened. She turned back around. "If he doesn't then… he's dead."

She felt like she would be sick. Too much death in one weekend.

The Opera Singer loaded another arrow into the crossbow. The men who had secured the participant in attached more padlocks and chains. One of them pulled a chain tight, yanking the warrior's head back against the board. The warrior cried out. Ignoring this, the men looped the chains through solid rings attached to the board fastened in the unlucky warrior, who cried out again.

Elise grimaced. It was extremely hard to watch.

Once they finished, they stepped away from the board. The music, just a background noise at first, built in intensity. Cymbals crashed, the drums beat louder.

Sarah jumped. "Oh, God! I'm sorry!" She laughed in embarrassment, taking John's arm. John laughed with her, then smiles delightedly as she lets go with her more distant hand but continues to hold onto his arm with the other.

Elise turned around to her father, who was looking at the couple with a disgusted expression. Elise wiggled her eyebrows at him playfully. Sherlock rolled his eyes and Elise laughed and turned back around.

The Opera Singer picked up a small knife and displayed it to the audience.

Her father began quietly explaining from behind. "She splits the sandbag; the sand pours out; gradually the weight lowers into the bowl."

The Opera Singer does just what Sherlock predicted – she reached up to a small sandbag hanging on a long cable and stabbed the knife into the bottom of the sack. Sand began to pour out, and the warrior repeatedly cries out with effort as he tugs at his chains. The clock on his life was ticking. The sandbag's cable is looped over a pulley and a metal ball is attached to the other end. As the sand continues to pour out of the bag, the weight lowered towards the bowl at the back of the crossbow.

One hand was freed.

The sandbag was now crossing paths with the weight on its way down.

Another hand free. He started working on the chains at his neck.

The black weight was now only a few feet above the bowl.

Gnawing; uncomfortable and increasing in Elise's insides.

The weight touched the bowl and the arrow streaked across the room. With a split second to spare, the warrior pulled free of the chains and ducked down, out of the line of fire.

Elise found herself clapping along with the rest of the impressed spectators, gasping in relief at his escaped fate.

"Wasn't that amazing, dad."

No response.

"Dad?"

She looked behind her. Sherlock was nowhere to be seen.

John turned her back around. "He probably went to go investigate. Don't worry about it."

"I-."

"Don't even think about it. He's a big boy Elise. He can take care of himself."

Elise huffed and focused her attention back on the acts. John was probably right. Besides, she was a bit wary of going on a wild goose chase to find Sherlock after the events of yesterday. She'd been in the vicinity of too many guns lately.

In the performance area, The Opera Singer raised a hand to halt the audience's applause. "Ladies and gentlemen, from the distant moonlight shores of the Yangtze River, we present for your pleasure the deadly Chinese bird-spider."

As she walked away, a masked acrobat descended from the ceiling, rolling through the air as the broad red band wrapped around his waist unraveled. The audience applauded and he stopped a couple of feet above the ground, holding his body parallel to the floor.

Elise watched as he unraveled the velvety ropes, twisting them and turning them as he spiraled gracefully through the air. The audience was completely transfixed, staring open mouthed up at the talented performer.

All was going quite well. It was easy to forget the reason that they were there.

Then all hell broke loose.

There was a great crash from of the stage. Sherlock came tumbling out from behind the velvet curtain, landing flat on his back with a loud thud. There was another man-dressed in a costume similar to the escapology warrior's-who jumped from the stage with finesse.

John and Elise were on the move straightaway, running towards the warrior as he produced a knife. Sherlock still on the floor, terribly winded.

 _Oh my god._

Elise felt white hot anger course through her veins, pushing her forwards as fast as her legs could carry her. Without thinking, she charged at the attacker like a bull, clinging onto his back and digging her nails into the skin of his suit. He shook at her violently, trying to eject her. Elise responded by pulling his head back as far as she could.

Big mistake.

Elise felt the air get sucked from her body as she was slammed into the stage.

Then everything went dark.

 **A/N: Hope you liked the chapter! I'm so glad to finally be back and writing for you lovely readers. I have a poll going on my profile with regards to original cases. Please take a minute to check it out? Also, special shout out to Guest reviewer, Clara, for all the nice words you said. I really appreciate it and you were very encouraging . Also thanks to anybody who has ever reviewed, favorited, followed, etc. You have no idea how much it means to me to have the constant support and I couldn't be anymore thankful.**

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